


John Laurens: the Sod' Doctor of London Street

by Rogueangelll



Category: 1700s RPF, 1800s RPF, Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, American History RPF, American Revolution RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - Sweeney Todd Fusion, Betrayal, Blood and Gore, Dark, Ew, Historical References, Love Triangles, M/M, Murder, Other, Period Typical Bigotry, Prostitution, Sweeney Todd References, dark academia vibes tbh, i promise it's too spicy be cautious, it could be a side plot on gøt, its just, mild prostitution, not mild gore, sorry i'm not taking this seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27700163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogueangelll/pseuds/Rogueangelll
Summary: when john laurens returns from banishment looking for his wife and kid, he is met with alexander hamilton as well as several agitating obstructions in his plans to reconnect with his daughter.  he deals with these hiccups, some in better ways than others.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. John Laurens: the Sod' Doctor of London Street

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ben shapiro](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ben+shapiro).



Accompanied by his younger brother, who had happily gone to the docks to receive him as soon as he had received the guised letter requesting he do so, John Laurens returned to London Street with a heavy cloud over his head and an vast, impenetrable, terrible, unfill-able emptiness in his heart. It had been fifteen years since he'd been exiled. His daughter must be sixteen by now.

"Where are you off to now, Jack?" James asked with a sigh. He could only frown at his brother's brooding. Laurens had just arrived to the States and already he was running off somewhere, and after his long travel by train to the city, James was sick of his once happy brother ignoring him. The eldest Laurens had barely spoken a word. After fifteen years and very few letters, all he had to say was a bid farewell before parting to venture likely down memory lane, heaven knows where—James would have been angry, had he not been the fairest tempered of the Laurens siblings, the most quiet and polite, and had he not loved his estranged brother even for the fifteen years he was a stranger. To meet John Laurens' wishes to be alone with hostility would be a surely charming way to mend their relationship.

"I have somewhere to be," Laurens said. "On your way now. It doesn't concern you."

"But Jack—"

"Please, go. I am in want of solitude. I am pleased you received me, however you should better imprint your time and care elsewhere. This world will ruin you." He looked at James and his eyes, in spite of his otherwise appearance, sparked with that hope he once had himself. "Do not let my company be the reason why."

"You are not ruined."

"What would _your_ father say if he knew I was back, and that you were associating with me?"

"He will not know, and he is your father, too. You are my brother. I should think you would not forsake that."

"I do not forsake it. I cherish it," he said earnestly. "Therefore I ask you to make your time with me scarce, for your own good. Make a safe travel back home. Write soon."

James left without a word or protest. He forced himself not to look back at the older man as he went.

Laurens had never been more ready in his life—though he was afraid.What could he expect?Would his wife be happy to see him?His daughter wouldn't even know his identity!Her own father...The poor girl had grown up without a father.Laurens thought on this as he entered his old home.What if Martha didn't recognize him?He hadn't aged that much, but still... fifteen years is a long time.What if she didn't want to see him?His wife and friend, Martha, could she hate him?What if—

Well, what if Martha didn't live on London street any longer?Seeing that as soon as Laurens entered his old home and it was occupied by a man running frantically back and forth behind a counter, he figured that was the case. The invader was mumbling to himself, red hair falling over his eyes. Laurens scowled.

The man looked at him, did not recognize him, and thus figured he must've been looking for a meal.

"Pardon me, Sir! I was just so busy —cooking that I hadn't noticed you'd walked in. What are you standing there for, Sir! Sit down, sit. Come, now," he grabbed Laurens by the arm and pushed him down into a seat at a table far enough away from the door. "You look like you must be starved! Hard at work? Have a meat pie, Sir!"

He rushed back behind the counter and grabbed a plate with an unappetizing pie upon it, then rushed back to set it in front of Laurens, pulling the cover off.

"It's cheap, Sir, very cheap! A dollar for a pie."

Laurens spoke for the first time, hesitantly, and although he was amused, he was also frustrated. His voice was certainly deeper than the voice of the young man he'd left behind before banishment; it was raspy, throaty, as though he'd spent those fifteen years inhaling and exhaling diamonds rather than oxygen.  Coal pollutions, bar smoke, his own smoking habits, factory smoke, it could have been anything.

He said, "I haven't money for your pies. I am looking for a Mrs. Martha Laurens.A certain widow of, uh.... John Laurens."

"I see." He studied Laurens' face carefully. He was off-put that his only customer wasn't any sort of a customer at all. "And why is that?"

"She lived here. I don't suppose this is your establishment, now?"

"I am in residence. Alexander Hamilton." He sat down at the table as well. "And you, Sir?"

Laurens stared at Hamilton. The man was quite beautiful, a curious, frantic look about him.

"Where is the woman and her daughter? The ones who used to live here?"

"I don't... I don't rightfully know. Now, who are you?"

Laurens' fist tightened. "How could you not know?"

"Sir, I only moved in this part of the city some five years ago. I don't—" his eyes met those of Laurens', "know the woman. What is your name and inquiry?"

"John Laurens."

Hamilton's eyes widened. "Oh! _You_ are John Laurens? Why, I never... I should have sooner realized."

"Why does it matter to you?"

Hamilton only looked curiously upon the man. "Your father, the judge, he... my, this is interesting. He sentenced you, did he not? But now you are back.How long has it been?"

Laurens ground his teeth. "Henry Laurens, Senior is still the judge?"

"In the district, yes. How was your stay in the West Indies, my Sir?" he teased. "I believe that was your destination of exile. Fifteen years, was it? For the crime of, uh..." he looked him up and down, frowned, and his voice became lower as though the very utter of these crimes would cause some sort of rupture in society, "moral deviancy, Sir?"

Laurens nearly bolted out of the building right then and there in a blend of anger and embarrassment. How dare this man, whom he did not know, know such an extent of his past? And how dare he bring it up?

He grabbed Hamilton by the lapel of his black waistcoat, yanking him forward. Hamilton sucked in a breath and laughed.

"I was only curious, Sir, I swear. The whole crime... it is peculiar, is it not? I mean... who is to say you were really buggering men? After all, it's not as though there were true witnesses... it could be a false accusation... Mr. L, I only speculate. I have no way in it, none at all. Now would you please," his breath was even, and he smiled, "release me?"

Laurens let go. 

Hamilton felt it safe to continue talking."I promise, I meant no harm. It _is_ strange, is it not? _Fifteen_ years of banishment? Now, perhaps it is the tender mercy of a father, one could argue, that you kept all your body parts, and your life, but a one John Laurens who spent weeks in prison and then on a prison ship and likely lived in shit conditions in the Caribbean for fifteen years would say such is quite the opposite of a tender mercy, no?" He chuckled, " _I_ would certainly not hold any ill will to you if you held ill will to your father for what he has done to your life and legacy. ...At least, if you had not been exiled, you could bugger men in private and peace like the rest of polite society."

"It's none of your concern," he snapped.

"Mary Laurens—"

"Martha."

"Martha Laurens," he corrected, "your wife?I heard she was dead long ago, Sir, and I did not want to tell you.As for the daughter, I have no clue."

"Goddammit!I return to the city, and for what?I have nowhere to go and no clue where my daughter..." he sucked in a breath, "Goddammit."

"Here, Sir, try some meat pie.For free," he added hopefully.

Laurens didn't object.He picked up the foul-smelling plate of food and picked up the pie, bit it, and made a face.Hamilton sighed, knowing why.

"I apologize.It's disgusting... wretched... I cannot seem to get the recipe right.Sorry."

Laurens spit it out onto the plate, scowling."Why have a business if you cannot make food that tastes edible?"

"There are drinks."

"Where are your customers? Are you not open?"

"No, the pub is open... not many come through. I am not doing well in public opinion at the moment, but as soon as I learn to serve food that tastes good—"

"'Not doing well in public opinion,'" repeated Laurens, a little wary. "And this is because of the food?"

"I... sure."

"Then if you have no customers, how do you pay taxes?"

"I, er... well, I also write, Mr. L."

"Does it sell? If it sold, that would remedy your lack of customers, would it not? People would pay for anything to see a famous author, even shit food. But I suppose Dickens is some tough competition."

"Well, yes. He is. But that is not the sort of writing I do."

"Then perhaps write something sellable. How do you pay your taxes and rent!"

"Awful curious, aren't you?" 

"Well, not anymore. I believe you have wasted my time enough," Laurens said. "I cannot spend daylight speaking to you, anyway, I am in need of a bed before late and a hot bowl of soup that does _not_ taste like piss," he spat. "Or a meat pie that does not taste like stray cat." He was about to get up when Hamilton spoke hastily.

"Sir, if you are just arriving to the city, you should feel more than welcome to stay here!" In his defense, the words were spilling from his lips before he could consider them. "You said this was your previous establishment?The room upstairs, was that a doctor's office?Were you a doctor?"

Laurens' nose twitched."It was my... practice, yes."

"Well, feel free to stay.I would hate to steal your home."He looked nervously at Laurens.The man had eyes that could kill."You may have your practice upstairs again, should you like... if you have no other job."

Laurens didn't know quite what to say, but, "I thank your kindness."He got up and Hamilton began to talk rapidly again. 

"Do you write, Mr. L? I write a whole lot. I write about... everything. People, customers who spit out my food, my lovers and mistresses, all of it. I write. That's what I do best. Oh! Political papers as well, I write those. Typically under a pseudonym and thus I do not have the royalties I believe I deserve. Why don't I just use my name and get the royalties, you ask? Well, Mr. L, I don't know if you are aware, but speaking one's mind can get one in quite a bit of trouble. Especially," he narrowed his eyes, "with that father of yours. Sentencing his own son! Firstborn, yes? Well, it should come as no surprise that he is ruthless. He charged a close friend of mine—doctor—of libel! The man only published a paper claiming that the industries that package and sell food have a one in two chance of causing illness. It's a truth I believe wholeheartedly, of course. I shan't put that canned meat anywhere near my lips. Oh! Anyhow, he used research and witness accounts from the workers of the factory, only to be charged with libel. I believe the workers who gave him the information were fired! In cold-blood, Sir, _fired_! Indeed job opportunities are myriad nowadays, but I was friends with one of the workers who were laid off. How unjust."

"Unjust indeed."

"These men have families and lives. They cannot afford to be fired! And for libel, my word, goddamn 'libel'! It's ridiculous, I say. Absolutely ridiculous." He huffed and slumped down in his seat. "So much for the freedom of speech. What say you?"

"I have nothing to say."

Hamilton cocked his head and sat up, uncrossing his arms as he did so but crossing his ankles. "But what of your father, the judge? Surely, an opinion—"

"If I may confide this in you, Mr. Hamilton: he is not my father at this point."

"Oh."

Laurens just stared. "And anyway, one may address me as Lawrence, now; not Laurens. I suppose I am no longer such. I should not draw the attention to myself."

"So you have not spoken with your— well, the judge?"

"No, Sir."

"Interesting. Has he knowledge of your return?"

"Not that I know of."

"Hm. Well, please, won't you show me your doctoring practice? I shall help you clean the room. I don't suppose it has been touched in years. I opened the door to a face full of a gust of dust, closed it and never returned."

Laurens was reluctant to allow Hamilton to accompany him, but to be fair the man was relinquishing a part of his home to him. So, he only nodded curtly, and turned with his briefcase in hand to go upstairs by the outdoor stairs, Hamilton eagerly following close behind.

"I mean, I know you had the practice many years ago," Hamilton said in his usual quick manner, "but the reason nobody has touched that room up there is because people say it's haunted. I must give them the benefit of the doubt."

"Haunted?"

"Yes, Sir, indeed!" He jumped up ahead of him and stood in front of the door, obstructing entrance. He leaned back against it dramatically. "Haunted. Are you sure you want the room? I mean, I have no opposition to your staying there, but perhaps you'd like to sleep somewhere else?"

"Haunted?" Laurens repeated.

"Yes," he huffed.

"How?"

"They say—well, whoever they might be is unknown—something terrible happened here. Horrific, treacherous, disturbing, sickening—"

"My word, get on with it, or I shall remove you myself!"

Hamilton only pressed against the door more insistently. "You are sure you wish to stay? Very, very sure? It is a disturbing story."

Laurens grabbed Hamilton's wrist and jerked him away from the door, prompting Hamilton to begin to yelp although he quickly choked it back. He opened the door, the knob a bit eroded and the window dirty. One could hardly see through the glass. He fiddled with the knob for a moment before putting pressure in the right spot and pushing it open. 

The room smelled musty, dirty—to say the least, foul. A dust cloud swept up as the door was opened. He didn't look at Hamilton, but from what Hamilton could see, he was absolutely shocked. Hamilton frowned and put a hand on Laurens' raised arm, which was the one still holding the knob.

"See, Sir, what'd I tell you?" he said gently.

Laurens still did not speak, although his lips were ajar.

"It's dirty, yes, but... eery. I only peaked in when I purchased the building. I couldn't force myself to look around. It gave me... well, chills. Chills, indeed. The hair on the back of your neck," he reached up to touch Laurens' neck, hoping to comfort him, "it stands up. You feel frozen. I apologize for even allowing you to enter."

Laurens had no reaction or response for a while.Then, he walked forward.Visibly large particles of dust floated past his eyes.Hamilton held onto the man's arm and followed his lead.How he wanted to speak!—but it would be disrespectful, he thought. So he watched Laurens' eyes as he searched the room; hand brushed thick dust off the desk; eyes wandered to the floor; feet shuffled forward; breath taken in sharply; he subconsciously squeezed Hamilton's arm, linked through his, still, a bit closer.

"What's—is that blood?"

Hamilton followed Laurens' gaze to a dark stain on the floorboards. "Yes, Sir."

"Whose?"

"I haven't a clue, Sir... the woman who died here, I didn't know her. And I haven't a clue how she died, either."

"Martha."

"Hm. Yes, I suppose that is most likely."

"She must have... here. She must have died here. Poor Frances... if her mother truly did die here, she must have been heartbroken. Question is: how?"

"Indeed, how? I'm sorry, Mr. L. You must be stricken with grief over your love."

His breath caught at that. Love felt like a cheap word; he didn't feel too horrible about her absence. He didn't miss her. He missed the thought of her, missed the company of a wife and friend, but, "It's all right," —so he must not be truly stricken with grief. He forced himself to look at Hamilton."Mr. Hamilton, you haven't a clue where my Frances might be?"

"No, Mr. Laurens.We may go on a walk and ask around town, should you like."

"I spent twelve years of my life in this city, and now I have no clue what happened to it."

"It was corrupt when you lived here and is corrupt now.I hate to ruin it for you."They started out the door."How old were you when you moved to the city?"

"Fourteen."

"I myself moved here when I was sixteen.I lived here and there, all around, really. Of course, I moved in hopes of college, but..."

"Oh. 'But'?"

"They didn't want me."

"Oh." He crossed his arms as he walked beside Hamilton. "Sorry about that."

Hamilton shook his head and hooked his arm through Laurens' again. "Downtown, Sir?"

Laurens stopped him. He pulled his scarf up over his face, then put his hat on, and Hamilton stared. He understood why Laurens should mask his identity. Little did Laurens know, associating with Hamilton would have been a great motive to mask his identity as well.

Then, they continued walking. Laurens continued to allow Hamilton to lead the way. His breath was hot beneath the scarf, but luckily it was chilly and just a bit windy so he got away with it. He breathed out against the restricting fabric and squeezed his guide's arm. 

Hamilton opened his mouth to talk, but flinched when he felt something hit the side of his face, followed by a shout.

He wiped it quickly, feeling cold mud.He hoped it was mud. It smelled somewhat foul. Maybe it was a lovely mixture of snow, shit, _and_ mud.

"Look, it's the _poet_ of London Street!" the perpetrator shouted with a laugh.

The substance certainly smelled like horse manure as he continued to wipe, Laurens having let go of his arm.

"Poet? Don't you know he sells 'meat pies'?" a woman, passing, scolded with a laughing, facetious scoff.

"Oh, yes, 'meat' pies," laughed the man. What Laurens and Hamilton didn't hear was the man privately muttering about how that bastard sells his prick.

Hamilton wiped angrily at his face with his sleeve, walking faster, not caring if hapless Laurens was beside him or not. Laurens pulled his scarf tighter against the bridge of his nose and caught up with the humiliated man, unwilling to ask for an explanation, but saying, "They truly despise your food."

  
• • •

It was in a fortnight that Laurens had reopened his practice. Prices were cheap, much cheaper than any of the other familiar clinics in the city, and he treated children for even less, and although it was almost suspicious, people couldn't stay away. He was lucky that the working man so often was ill. Indoors, Laurens wore a light mask—for sanitation, he would say to the inquiring customer, as he proceeded to teach the miracle of hygiene: something unpracticed by most, he told Hamilton. 

Hamilton was still not as well off in his own business downstairs as he'd hoped, but assisting Laurens (at least trying) kept him busy. When he was not assisting him, or trying to learn more about medicine, Hamilton kept himself busy in other ways. He wrote; when he did not do that, he cleaned; when he did not do that, he entertained his other customers.

Laurens spent too much time holed up either with patients or just by his lonesome to notice the men and women who would come in and out of the store downstairs, to buy pie or brew nought. Those who entered hid their identities, for it was disgraceful to have rumors about their true intentions.

He did, however, notice Hamilton's tiredness and the way he dwelled in the appearance of brooding pain. Laurens wanted to ask why he looked like this, what troubled him, but did not. There was something appealing and entertaining to wish to know every detail about Hamilton, but he did not want to break the wall between them. To inquire would be to invite the vampire in. Hamilton was a strange sir, but it did not necessarily indicate his queerness anyhow, and Laurens did not want to confirm Hamilton's very on-point suspicions that he was guilty of the crime for which he was exiled. 

Yet he noticed how Hamilton walked and talked and sat and frowned with poise and elegance. He could fool easily—lie—appear as a prince or an heir or a well-loved city boss, an actor assuming any role. He spoke words gentler, more intelligent than any of those oft' spoken by a common man. He stood firm in whatever it was that he believed; was unafraid to say it. He was beautiful in all the right ways, almost too good for him, Laurens thought.

But he couldn't prey on Hamilton. Rather, it felt like the graceful man preyed on him. He hunted him. He sought out every secret and hidden gem. He wouldn't back down.

Laurens didn't want him to.

• • •

"Your voice is quite thick," Hamilton pointed out. It was a Sunday morning. Nobody would visit any clinic or brewery on a Sunday because even if they were not religious, it would be frowned upon to have business open on a day of rest.

Laurens looked up from his newspaper in amusement. "That so?"

"Yessir. Quite thick indeed. Were you a smoker?"

"Only on occasion, Mr. Hamilton. The brew is more of my vice."

"Interesting." He thought for a moment. "Was your voice always like that?"

"That I do not know."

"Hm."

"What are you humming for? Is there a problem?"

Hamilton was sitting in the seat parallel to Laurens. He extended his legs, brushed his foot against Laurens' calf. "No problem, Sir."

Laurens didn't answer. He set his newspaper down, however. Hamilton bit back a smirk.

"John?"

"Yes?" He felt shivers up his back.

"Are you—have you ever..." he stopped, hummed, looked away; thought for a moment; then, "have you ever had thoughts? Ones that keep you up late in the night?" He leaned forward a bit, brushed the toe of his boot against Laurens' leg once again, felt the hard muscle even though there was so much material dividing them. He lowered his voice, "Thoughts that make your stomach churn... you feel sick, but cannot help the desire."

"Yes." The answer came from Laurens definitely. It surprised him. It was smooth and sure on his own tongue and he did not recognize himself.

"Describe them to me."

"You would not like to hear."

"Then show them to me. Show me your desires. You seem tense, Mr. L."

Laurens felt as though he were watching himself, a vessel as his body, empty, all from another perspective. He knew what Hamilton was doing. It couldn't feel wrong, though. Not right now. Not while he desired it. He would certainly take time to feel guilty _later_. For now, he needed to salve the ache he'd bore for Hamilton for weeks.

"I... cannot. You must guess," Laurens flirted. His voice was so low. He maintained eye-contact with Hamilton, until the scraping of the chair against the wood floor in the pub sent him into a jolt. Hamilton came around the table and Laurens subconsciously pushed his own chair away from the table, allowing him space to hover over him.His hand brushed against Laurens' shoulder.

"By the color of your cheeks, I should say I am quite on the right track."He couldn't help but smile.He moved his hand down over Laurens' chest and smoothed his lapel."Shall I continue to guess?"

Laurens nodded slightly, breath caught.Hamilton continued to rub his hands down over Laurens' torso.He knelt in front of him and rest his chin on his knee.Then, softly, "Am I getting warmer?"

"Alexander..."

"'Alexander,'"he repeated whimsically. "Wouldn't it be good to be paid for every time I heard a person say my name like that?" He chuckled and stood back up, hovering over Laurens' lap with his arms around his neck, now."I like that," he whispered, lips just barely brushing the stubble on Laurens' cheek, "However you do know that this is some dangerous territory we enter... especially on a Sunday."

"I don't care much anymore."

"My Laurens, doth mine ears deceive me?I cannot believe you'd be so..." he growled a little, then chuckled lowly, hummed. He bit lightly on the lobe of Laurens' ear. "So reckless in desire."

Laurens couldn't help but touch. He rest his hands on the cusp of Hamilton's ass, pulled him closer. Hamilton sat in his lap with his legs on either side of him.

"Are my guesses still good?" he mumbled. His breath was so hot on Laurens' cheek. 

"They could be better."

Hamilton took the challenge and kissed Laurens' neck, beginning to shed his own waistcoat as he did so. Laurens could only squeeze him.

"Better," Laurens breathed. Hamilton took one of Laurens' hands and guided it to his now bare chest, buttons having been popped on his shirt furiously. Laurens hummed in delight. His skin was so much more beautiful than he'd imagined...

A knock on the door sent Hamilton into a start as he jumped off of Laurens and quickly buttoned his shirt and slipped the waistcoat on. While Laurens gathered himself, he ran to the door and unlocked it sloppily. The curtains were only half-closed in the shop, and anyone could have seen possibly shapes or even faces through the window if they squinted through the grime.

"We're closed," Hamilton growled to the man who had knocked. He tried to block the doorway.

"I know what you are. I am not here for your foul pies. I must speak to Jack."

"There is no Jack here," Hamilton lied. He was desperate to send the man away. Who was he? A client, or hopefully a patient of Laurens'? But he called him by a nickname.

"I know what you do—" he leaned in, breath rancid, "you and that fool of a man. Sin in the eyes of God, both of you."

"I oblige you to leave my pub, Sir," Hamilton said. The man tried to push past him but he put his arm out in the doorframe, scowling.

Laurens grabbed Hamilton's shoulder, pulling him out of the way, angry at the familiar face. "Is there a problem here?"

"You—" the man spat. "You and that damn—" he pointed his finger at Hamilton, "sodomite. Both of you."

Laurens shoved him out of the way and went to the street, whence he accessed the stairs to his upstairs practice. The man quickly followed. Hamilton, too, tried to follow, but after the man followed Laurens into his office, he slammed it on Hamilton. Hamilton rolled his eyes and knocked.

"Just a moment," said Laurens to the man. He opened the door. "Hamilton, allow me privacy. Go down to your bar. I'm having a little chat with this unexpected guest."

"And just what the hell are you going to do?" Hamilton whispered. "He knows we—"

"I will take care of it. Go. Now."

He was terribly off-put by Laurens' tone, so he stormed off downstairs.

Laurens shut the door peacefully, subtly locking it. He turned to the man.

"Mr. Kinloch. It's been a while, now, hasn't it?" Laurens crossed his arms. "How have you found me?"

"You are an insufferable moron, Laurens. You moved back into your own practice, right above the bar of the most famous one-man brothel in town—and you somehow believed that a silly scarf and mask would cover your identity?"

"Why are you here? To torment me? Accuse Hamilton of sodomy and prostitution? Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. Keep foul, untrue accusations off your tongue."

"I sought you out to tell you what a goddamned fool you are! How dare you show your face in this city again? How dare you?" Kinloch growled.

"I almost hadn't recognized you, what with that ridiculous thing on your lip. A poor excuse for a mustache, Sir."

"You rat."

"'Rat'?" Laurens actually laughed. "Why ever could that be? Because I was arrested for sodomy? Because I spent fifteen years of my life in a country I didn't know of? All because of you," he accused, "because you betrayed me! Meanwhile you stayed. Nobody knew it was you."

"You should be ashamed." He got closer. "You tricked yourself into believing there was righteousness to the sins!"

"Whose prick was it in your throat; in your ass, you idiot? Mine. You are just as guilty as I, and you know it. Only you are ashamed."

"As if you are not ashamed? You always have been. You know it is you who is the animal, the corrupted spawn... who afflicts others... angry and evil, you despicable creature. You even now slum with that animal downstairs who prides himself in sucking cock—"

"You shut your mouth about him. I haven't any idea what you're going on about."

"Hah! And you feign ignorance! I am beyond those crimes, those sins, and have been forgiven by god; have you? No. You continue to be foul. Now you commit them with the owner of the bar, don't you?"

Laurens wanted to kill him—but he had to wait. He smirked. Time to put on a show. "Why; are you jealous?"

"Where is that reaction? Do you not fear for your soul?"

"I bear no fear," Laurens defied.

"When you are burning in the pits of hell, you will."

"What in God's name do you know about hell, Kinloch? You think because some holy priest flicked water over your head that you are saved? You are terribly mistaken. You shall burn right beside me! You are not forgiven, nor will you ever be!"

Kinloch bared his teeth. "You are disgusting." He spit on Laurens' shoe. "I am leaving. You have some nerve showing up here again. I'm planning to tell everybody of your identity, not to mention your newest crimes. Father dearest shall be grateful to see his son, will he not?" Kinloch shook his head and chuckled. "No, I forgot. He's the one who exiled you—you pig."

"If I'm the pig, what does that make you?" Laurens seized Kinloch by the arm.

"Let go of me."

"You wished to so warmly welcome me back to the city? Let me welcome you back to my practice, my dear Kinloch," he muttered. He pushed Kinloch onto the examination table. "Don't move." He let go of Kinloch's wrist and turned to search through his doctor's bag behind the startled man. He pushed the scalpel up into his sleeve then closed it. He returned to the frozen patient.

"What are you doing? Are you a madman?"

"Mad? Why, I never," Laurens laughed, almost too joyously. He placed himself between Kinloch's legs and moved his head close. Kinloch leaned back. "What's this? After every insult you hurled, you wish to go back fifteen years? Fifteen years of my exile, just to return and shame me? Are you aware of why you're doing this, my dear?" He leaned closer. "Is it because you, yourself, are ashamed?"

Kinloch's eyes widened. He tried to close his legs to hide the apparent erection in his pants.

"I realized this after you betrayed me. Broke my heart. You wish to guilt me because you have shame of your own. No worries, dear Francis. If anything, you _should_ bear more shame than I! You: the beloved; and I: the lover! Do you recall our teachings in the ways of the ancient Greeks? Do you recall..." he hummed and focused his gaze on Kinloch's britches, "the men of Greece and their beloved boys?"

"I should have forgotten that with my baptism; my reawakening in Christ. I am no longer the beloved..."

"Oh, my dear," Laurens whispered. His voice was surprisingly calm. He gently pulled Kinloch's now relaxed legs apart. His callused knuckles grazed Kinloch's cheek. "Yet you are my beloved." He smiled. "My dear, dear Kinloch. Just as fifteen years have passed by, I have not forgotten what made you squirm the most." His grin widened. "You miss having me there to embarrass you, don't you?"

Kinloch squeezed the metal table. "I missed it _not_. You are crazy."

"Crazy? Crazy as that lust in your pants?"

He forced himself not to look down. "I..."

"That's what I thought. Now, in what way have you kept yourself occupied for these fifteen years, dear boy?"

"No way. I have not craved—" his breath hitched, and he could no longer hide it, "anyone except you. But you were gone."

"You remained untouched for those years? Did you anticipate my return?"

"No—my wife," he mentioned lazily, eyes closed, "but she's not—"

"Not a man. She's not me." He chuckled, although it was darker, now. "You want a man's touch."

Kinloch turned his head in shame.

"Look at me," Laurens snapped."Say it."

"No, I shan't."

"Say it or you may go another fifteen years untouched."

Kinloch swallowed and stared up at Laurens.

"I want a man's touch."

Laurens chuckled again and pinched his cheek."You're such a goddamn bitch, Francis. That was incredible! You comply so quickly."

Kinloch's face reddened and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"I suppose you don't want this, though? Seeing as you are now a man of God, and seeing as you wish to _report_ me. Betray me again. See how unaffected I am."

"Jack... understand... I..." he did not know what to say. "I..." He wished to say he was sorry, but Laurens was angry with him. The man never behaved like this before. He was always so easy to manipulate... and now Kinloch was the one on the examination table.

"Do you wish to say something to remedy my anger? It will not happen. I will be angry until the day you die."

Kinloch shook his head, suddenly feeling unable to keep suppressed his feelings of lust, love, shame, and regret. He wanted to love Laurens again. Every day for the past fifteen years, he worried he made the wrong decision, but he kept reassuring himself he was righteous in his actions. It was easy, considering most everyone would have agreed, especially Henry Laurens. As much as he missed John Laurens, however, and as much as he wished to apologize, he knew he would always end up putting himself first. That's just who he was. Laurens wasn't the type to stand for that anymore, it seemed.

Laurens, with one hand, kept Kinloch's legs spread. In his right hand, he shook the scalpel from his sleeve and into his hand. He pressed the blade to the seam of his former lover's britches, cutting the fabric that would allow access to anything he wanted.

And he wanted revenge.

Kinloch's eyes shot open when he saw the surgical blade. He immediately closed his legs, about to shout a protest, but Laurens stood between them and kept them spread. He threatened the scalpel against Kinloch's wrist.

"You're mad—"

"Don't say a word." Laurens narrowed his eyes at him.

Kinloch stared in fear. Laurens slowly dragged the scalpel against his wrist, cutting deep, making sure it would hurt. He pinched the skin there so it would bleed more. Kinloch squirmed and tried to push this madman away. He was in an incredible state of shock before the panic.

Laurens only took his wrist and rubbed the blood on Kinloch's face, trying to get it in his mouth. Kinloch kept his lips shut and struggled to get away, but Laurens pushed his wrist into his mouth and told him to bite it. When Kinloch disobeyed, he put the weapon to his throat.

"Bite down on your wrist, you bitch—or I'll slit your damn throat."

Kinloch bit down.

Laurens pushed his legs open once again and ripped the fabric remaining over his crotch. He held the scalpel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, eyes dark and filled with rage.

"You put me through hell," Laurens growled. "Not only did you shame me, not only did you force me to hate myself, but you took away everything from me! You took my daughter from me and my livelihood! My whole life, Francis Kinloch, you ruined me!" He pressed the blade to Kinloch's perineum, angrier by the second. "You took my life. I'm going to take yours." He was shaking. "Have you any want for children?" Laurens laughed again, tears in hid eyes. "No matter: a corpse with or without a cock cannot give a woman children."

Kinloch tried to get away, wrist falling from his mouth. "You're a madman!"

He was a sorry sight, blood on his teeth and lips. Blubbering and bloody.

Laurens grabbed him. "Put your wrist back in your fucking mouth, or next it's your eye I cut out!"

Never had Kinloch heard such foul language from Laurens' mouth. This was not the man he knew. He changed.

Was this what it took to be a man?

No matter, Kinloch wouldn't have it. He struggled. He began to fight Laurens, hitting him and wrestling him away best he could. 

Laurens felt rage spiral around him. He punched Kinloch with the mighty force of a man who had won quite a few bar fights, then proceeded to unravel the scarf around his neck in order to fasten it around Kinloch's wrists instead. Kinloch squirmed. He asked why, again and again, but received no answer. He pleaded for his life, and for his genitals. He continued to fight despite his bonds, and because Laurens could tell he had no intention of remaining still, he took the blade and swiftly stabbed his thigh. He was too stunned, too in pain, to even scream. 

"Remember that nice, important little artery, Francis? Huh?" he growled. "Ahaha—the femoral artery. I remember studying this in school, do you? If I cut deep enough," he pushed the blade just a hair deeper, "You will bleed to death in a matter of minutes. Don't you fucking move, or your fate will be met thusly. Today, I decide if you live or die."

Kinloch could only lay back on the table, tears in his eyes and paralyzed by fear and pain. He groaned, gasping slightly. Laurens stepped away to grab another blade, a larger one, as he left the small one in his victim's thigh.

He pressed it to his exposed perineum once again. 

"You know, my dear, I've always wanted to be a surgeon. Now shall I be one who performs castration and such? A maker of eunuchs? That's what they do to those convicted of sodomy, typically, don't they? Cut off their pricks? ...I very well could have lost mine, isn't that funny? Oh, we don't have time to speak. I want to get this done while you still feel everything. Will you be my first patient?" He began to cut his perineum and Kinloch tossed, screaming against his wrist. "Do _not_ move! It only hurts more."

He was sobbing. 

Laurens bore no sympathy, running on adrenaline and anger. He cut a clean line up, then made an incision on his victim's testicles. Then, he continued to mutilate him, all the while Kinloch thrashed about best he could. He banged his head back on the table. Laurens held his legs in place, scolding him occasionally for how much he moved. He looked possessed, Laurens noted.

Kinloch cried—"Like a bitch," Laurens growled. He grabbed him by the shirt and made him sit up, a pool of blood around his genitals on the table. "This is for everything," he pulled the smaller scalpel from his thigh, pushed it into his chest and left it, "you've made me," he stabbed the large scalpel into his thigh, again and again, "feel. For every fucking time I had cried due to your cold heart."

Kinloch sobbed. He couldn't fight back anymore. His blood was everywhere. He knew this was it for him.Even if Laurens should let up, he was well aware that his injuries were too permanent.He'd die of infection if blood loss didn't get him first, even if Laurens tried very hard to preserve his life. Kinloch figured he would not.

But he was too weak to fight this thought.He only choked out, "Monster."

Laurens' eye twitched at that. He could hear Kinloch's voice, a younger voice, words from fifteen years ago—"monster." And Laurens jumped up on the table at that. He didn't care about the blood on his clothes. He towered over Kinloch and wrapped his hands around his neck.

"You're the monster! Don't accuse me! This is for everything, everything you took from me!"

He watched Kinloch bleed out and choke on his own blood. He had blood all over his own clothes. He felt the bile rise in his throat, shame at what he'd just done, the anger he had just taken out on his former lover and friend. His thumbs were pressed into Kinloch's neck. The way he could feel Kinloch's breath leave was perhaps the most terrifying part of this all.

He got off of the table and wiped the blood off on his clothes.

"Lover," he scoffed to himself, as though Kinloch could still hear him. The man was gone. "The cheap name for a fucking nightmare."

He stared as Kinloch's limp body for a few moments, feeling disgust wash over him.

He was disgusted at his relief.

• • •

Hamilton's eyes widened at the body in the trunk, folded in on itself, a damned bloodbath. He looked at Laurens.

"What did you do?" he whispered.

"I killed him."

"So I observe!"

"It was the only thing I could do. He threatened to expose me. I cannot have that." Laurens tossed the soiled, bloodied towel he'd used to clean the floor into the trunk as well, followed by his bloodied clothes. It's soaked through to his underwear.

Hamilton had no attachment to this deadman, nor did he know of this true manner of his death.He'd seen enough of death, anyway, to force himself to be numb, so it mattered not to him.

"John," he began, but Laurens only walked away to sit at his desk.He frowned."That man—he seemed to know you."

Laurens shrugged."I suppose I may have worked with him at some point before my exile."

Hamilton only stared.He didn't buy into the obliviousness but wouldn't pry. "We must do something with the body."

"I don't care.Bury him in the cellar or toss him out on the tracks at the edge of the city.Whatever you please. Feed him to the mutts in the alleyways if so be your desire."

"Or," he hummed, having suddenly thought of an idea due to Laurens' suggestion, "Instead of taking the risk, we do something else..."He huffed."The price of fresh meat is awfully high nowadays.There's simply no end to it."

Laurens clenched his fist."What are you suggesting, Alexander?"

"There's a furnace in the basement.There, we can burn his clothes and bones.The rest of him we can grind into meat... just like beef or chicken.It would seem such an awful waste not to utilize... it.After all, we are indeed animals—primal—'tis only nature to feed upon other animals."

Laurens slowly turned to look at him, stunned that Hamilton was indeed serious.

"Your suggestion is quite disgusting," Laurens said.

"As well as it is genius."

He stared for the longest time. The silence was torturing Hamilton, who awaited what Laurens had to say.

"Why, I suppose it is a shame... a mighty awful waste."

Hamilton felt his lip pick up slightly. "Quite the awful waste."

And suddenly Laurens stood. "I've never met any man such as yourself."

"Such as...?"

"Perverse... like I." 

Hamilton swallowed.Perverse.Quite the stellar adjective.

"We were made for one another, John."

Laurens chuckled bitterly."I shall take the trunk to the basement.Don't worry yourself."

"It's all right, I—"

"No. I'll cut and clean it. I have," he said, eyes darting to his freshly cleaned surgical tools, "medical training."

"I doubt you not but Mr. L, I must ask: if you had such knowledge, then why, pray tell, is that man swimming in a pool of his own blood in that there trunk?"

"Ah. Blood is blood, my friend. I knew where to strike and he is dead, is he not?"

"After quite the protests."

"All dying men call out to bargain, with honor or not."

"I have seen countless dead and though they protested, it was not quite like those I heard all the way from the tavern."

Laurens sighed. "What is it you want from me? I am done with this game."

"Tell me, John Laurens: was there a reason to torture this man before death—or are you inexperienced with the blade?"

"It is no concern of yours.Now go and make yourself scarce.I cannot entertain your encroaching of my private matters any longer."

"Seems like it ought to be a concern of mine.There is a dead man in my building.If it is no concern of mine perhaps it should be the concern of the New York Police Departm—"

Hamilton was given no time to finish his thought before Laurens was pushing him against the wall.It wasn't anything too harsh, as Laurens had a knack for remaining calm and yet being so good at showing his ability to, well, evidently commit murder.He glanced to the chest, then back to Hamilton. He whispered, "I enjoy you. It would be a goddamn shame to part with you, Alexander."

Hamilton only smiled and lifted his arms out from between Laurens'—where they had been pinned—and over Laurens' shoulders.He hooked his arms to pull him closer to his lips.

Laurens whispered, "What I should say is, it would be a goddamn shame if you ended up in that furnace as well.And you know," he said, "it is the last thing I should wish to do."

"I know," Hamilton answered.He turned his head in the light just right, aware that it would frame his high cheekbones well against his dark eyelashes. He was unbothered by Laurens' stupid little threats. Sure, the man committed murder, but murder was just another sin, was it not? Laurens was no more dangerous than before. Hamilton was sure there were plenty of people he'd bedded who committed murder, or worse, and instead of thinking about that incredibly real possibility, he accepted he may never know and it was a matter of life. We're all sinners.

Laurens reached up and took one of Hamilton's hands away from behind his neck, and held it. Hamilton put his other hand back on Laurens' shoulder.

It didn't take long before they were moving their feet, then soon Laurens had his free hand on Hamilton's hip, and then they were dancing—a sort of broken waltz.Hamilton moved closer until their chests were touching, and by his affection he hoped it was clear to Laurens that he only meant to tease.

"John..." he mumbled, "my threat was empty.Of course, nobody shall uncover our little..." he hummed, his lips closer to Laurens' as their waltz slowed, "secret."

"I expected as much."

"My only wish is that you should tell me the truth.I long for the story behind this man."

"No, you do not."

"Then I shall hope a day will come in which you _shall_ reveal to me the truth." He stood on his toes to kiss the underside of Laurens' jaw, feeling his facial hair tickle his lips. "In the meantime, we should take care of this body."

"Hamilton, what have I told you?"

"I wish to aid you."He prodded his nose against Laurens' cheek, breathing hot breath from his throat to catch his attention.

"Hamilton..."

"Allow me to help.Please.In any way I can."

"Alexander."

"I am honored to serve you. In my heart, I crave your touch—I crave to see the pearls on your skin, beneath the fabric."

Laurens shoved him away. "No. I cannot. Not at this moment, at least..." he tried not to think too deeply on Hamilton's dejected expression. "You are right, we should get this trunk downstairs."

"I am helping you with the it."

"...Fine. Afterwards, we go into town and buy the ingredients and supplies we'll need to prepare the steak."

"We can only sell it if people buy, you know.We need a new marketing strategy."

"A marketing strategy? Your shop, is it not? Why don't you lure in consumers?"

"Right.You're right.I apologize."

Laurens studied him, eyes glazing every inch of Hamilton's body. Hamilton noticed this, feeling much like a butterfly in glass. He did not resent this feeling, however.

"Do not apologize," the doctor chided softly. "Let's get this trunk."

• • •

Hamilton was leaned over the counter that evening. He felt heated dampness on his forehead. He was trying not to think about Laurens in the cellar, chopping up the body. Of course, the circumstances under which Hamilton resided should call for a bit of anxiety. Should a nosy stranger show up at one's tavern, catch the owner in an illegal embrace, then be led upstairs and killed and soon cooked into a meal for the ignorant, one would understandably be unable to think of anything but the imagery of soft flesh being sawed in one's cellar—by one's lover.

Lover? Hamilton wondered seriously if Laurens could be considered such.

It was silly to him that he was so caught up it. Meanwhile, there was a dead man being prepared for a pie.

He felt sick at the thought but he was in love with the idea of their little secret.

Hamilton loved doing bad things.He loved defying every rule set in place ever.He felt like a hero.Civil disobedience was so simple and yet so attractive.

Laurens gave him a rush of disobedience with every touch and every word he spoke. The shadows would cover their misdeeds, but for how long? Secrets always got out eventually, even (and especially) posthumously—but Hamilton didn't mind. Especially not in the moment. In the moment (even in the moments in which Laurens was no more than a thought, a fantasy) he did not mind that anybody should ever hear of what despicable creatures they were.

Would he be shunned for eternity? Of course. Did that bother him? Absolutely. However, it would be a shame to pass up a little fun in his mundane life, even if that fun could lead him to an eternity of gnashing his teeth, and for any children to come, the same. 

Perhaps his mother and father's gnashing was due to their inheritance as well. 

Laurens' voice came sudden and raspy, and Hamilton felt his shoulders fall in relaxation. "Mr. Hamilton."

"Yes." 

Laurens didn't speak, prompting Hamilton to look up at him in inquiry. There Laurens stood with a large tray of ground meat, perfectly bloody red, but most certainly fresh. It did not smell or differ greatly in appearance from that of a pig. 

"Oh."

"Yes," Laurens whispered. "'Oh.'"

Hamilton waved to the counter by the stove, where a large pan sat. He ordered Laurens to set it there. He did so.

"Are you feeling all right, Alexander?"

"Quite well," he lied. He couldn't get his eyes off the meat.

Laurens brought his hands to his face. He felt tenderness for a moment, tenderness he never felt before. He felt a feeling that was troubling, to say the least.

"You are not—and I can see it. Come."He pulled Hamilton's face a bit closer."Tell me your thoughts."

"I think I should ask if you washed your hands."

"Alexander, of course I washed my hands."

"Then in any other thoughts of importance, I have none."

"It's all important."

Hamilton felt his face squish between Laurens' hands, so meaningfully held."I worry... about you.About the man you've murdered..."

"Don't worry yourself over things not worth worrying."

"How dare you tell me not to worry?" he whispered, hands atop Laurens' on his cheeks, now. He squeezed."There is a man ground into burger on my bar.I listened to his passing.I know what you've done—and I'm right to be worried about you.You scare me."

"I scare you?"He scoffed, suddenly ashamed. "Here I am thinking you should be the one person to not fear me for what I've done."

"No, it's...”

"I suppose, then, you'll find this scary." He kissed Hamilton briefly and backed him against the counter. "Or this." And he pinned Hamilton there, face close.He grabbed his wrists and pinned him."—This."

Hamilton pulled back and swallowed hard. He grabbed Laurens by the lapel of his shirt, having freed his hands with little effort. He sighed and kissed him. "Your actions scare me," he clarified. "You are handsome and good, John Laurens, but the things you have shown you are capable of..."

"I would not do anything to hurt you, though."

"I don't know what you might do next," he whispered. "I have little understanding of how your mind operates. I feel insecure and unsure—because you are volatile. As a volatile man myself, I worry for your mind. I swear it is not your advancements or attachments I fear. Those, I welcome with amor." His arms went around Laurens' neck and he pulled himself up on his toes. "I could never reject your affections."

"Never? No."

"For certain."

"No!"

Hamilton laughed. "For certain! Come," he whispered, hand guiding Laurens' jaw. "Yes, here."

Laurens felt himself smile, too. He chided himself and thus tucked his face into Hamilton's neck, trying to hide the smile with labial affections.

Hamilton gave in and laughed on.

The happy moment soon ended when it would have been a moment too awkward with the tray of meat ready to be cooked beside them. They split non-verbally and began to cook together, remaining silent still.

It was sick. 

Laurens felt no more than faint lament as he stirred meat frying over the burner. The ground beef was no beef at all—yet he couldn't force himself to dwell on its soul, even if he wanted to. 

In fact, his mind was occupied by Hamilton's flirts as he baked his former lover into a pie.

• • •

Two months had passed. The tavern was more lively than ever. Patrons were regular and the "beef" meat pies were popular. Two months—and somehow their supply of meat never relented. Every now and again Hamilton would notice a patient enter Laurens' practice but never see them leave; coincidentally, a new supply of freshly ground beef would need to be cooked that night. 

Hamilton never ventured to the basement. It frightened him—the secrets down there. Laurens' volatility frightened him more with the new killings.

He kept himself occupied with his personal patrons as his conquest of Laurens did not progress in these two months. The man seemed to become more distant. This is what Hamilton feared. He knew murder hurt a good man's mind.

Laurens was too far gone sometimes for Hamilton to even attempt to reach. He was afraid and insecure beneath the murdering, reclusive, cold-hearted, disowned deportee—beneath that shit, he was just a man.

Laurens had gone downstairs after slaughtering his most recent patient—a severely alcoholic man—to find Hamilton looming over his own little patient in the back room, pleasuring him beneath his britches. Hamilton himself looked bored but all Laurens could see was the outline of his hand in this stranger's pants, and he was furious. How cruel and insulting, and honestly lazy, of Hamilton to leave the door open an inch, so that Laurens would happen upon this sight.

He went white with anger as he burst open the door. Hamilton's hand was removed from the patron's pants quicker than a flash of lightning. He shooed the man. The patron was more afraid than Hamilton as he ran out, covering his face and cursing, fumbling with his britches as he exited, unbothered by his lack of orgasm for fear of his life being, well, essentially over. Even if he knew Laurens was a sodomite, if he'd stuck around, Laurens would have punched his stupid face raw.

Laurens opened his mouth, ready to scream, but nothing came. He couldn't muster the strength to speak the words he felt. The emotions were too intense.

Instead of apologies, as he anticipated, Hamilton began to shout.

"What ails you so?!Reveal to me the reason you should come in here, bursting from the seams with crazed anger like a _madman_ , and scare away my patron!"

"What?" Laurens whispered.He clenched his fist."You never told me the whispers were truth."

"What whispers? That I'm a whore's son whose prick belongs to every unholy man in the city?"Hamilton scoffed and began to laugh. "You must have known!"

"You never confirmed this! How was I to know?"

"You _should_ have. Perhaps you are more stupid than I thought."

"How dare you! I assumed the rumors to be false because I had faith in you, Alexander! I believed you were better than such!"

"Better? I'm no better man." He chuckled, truly mad now. "I was born of sin and have lived in sin, and by God, John Laurens, in sin I shall surrender. I was never a man better than the scum of Sodom and Gomorrah. Spare me of your wordy tortures now," he rolled his eyes, "I have no time for judgements from a man who'll spit on me and hold me in chains."

"Hold you in _chains_?"

"You wish I belonged to you. Save it... Slavery's illegal."

Laurens glared at him, taken off-guard and offended. He still wanted to scream but could barely raise his voice. The tension was thick and yet too calm to be a fight. 

Hamilton went on, "That you accuse me of low moral character is perhaps the most insane of your actions. _You_ are a man of sin. You are the man who sacrifices innocent people to run our business! You are just as afflicted by the male sex as I! You want me for yourself but you don't own me! You don't even put in the effort to."

Laurens began to stammer. "I do not own you, but I haven't a clue how to make myself yours, Alexander. In these matters, I've never done well, and now I'm even less sure. I want you, but you have no care for fidelity. How do I trust you without leashing you? How could I be all right with what you do?"

"What I do puts coins in my jar. Why are you bothered? Is it envy you feel—do you feel envy for the men who are touched by my hand when you have not felt that?"

"No! I feel anger and betrayal!"

"Why!"

"I want loyalty!"

Hamilton threw his hands in the air. "Loyalty!" said he, hands slapping to his thighs and back up again as he paced, "'Loyalty,' he says. The mysterious recluse wants loyalty. Where's your loyalty to me, Laurens? You want a loyal, honest servant, while you remain in your office murdering your patients without even giving me an explanation! I should call the authorities on a man like you!" He suddenly spat in disgust, "Why! Why have I allowed you to rope me into this mess? The horrors—" He stopped suddenly and felt his voice break, knees threatening to buckle as he leaned against the wall. He could shout no longer. "Tell me what is going on. Stop shutting me out, please, I just... I need to know. What are you searching for?"

Laurens' mouth was dry. He took a step back. "You don't understand. I'm doing it for you, for us—"

"What 'us'? There is no 'us' if you spend all your time fucking hacking up bodies!"

"Alexander—"

"No, you have no argument. You want not a connection with me, but a contract of servitude."

"And _you_ apparently want coin," he spat. "Is that why you flirt like a whore but have never touched my cock? Because you _are_ a whore?"

"You think you are a client to me?"

"Am I?"

"I am an accessory to murder and probably by now half a dozen other crimes, for you! How dare you call me a whore and accuse—"

"How dare I! You _are_ a whore, Alexander!"

"For work! Not to you! I am not and never will be your whore! Sorry, _pal_! Not until you treat me better than my actual clients do!"

Laurens felt so much unjustifiable and messy hurt and anger. "You assumed I knew about this. You must have been waiting for me to pay you for a favor," he said with a scoff, as if he knew this to be true. It wasn't, not even a little bit. "It makes plenty of sense." He turned.

"John."

He remained. "What more can be said? I can't stand to look at you."

"Do _not_ walk away, you ass."

Laurens did not turn back around.

"Don't you leave me, Laurens. Don't walk away," he pleaded. "John Laurens, please."

Laurens swallowed and walked away in silence. Hamilton made no motion to follow.


	2. Alexander Hamilton: the Whore Baretender of London Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hamilton's drinking worsens as he finds himself torn between duty and his own inclinations. laurens reconnects with some long-estranged family members.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have the rape/non-con warning checked because there are no graphic depictions of such in this work, however in this chapter they do mention assault, so I felt I should let readers know right here. I promise it is minimal, and only talked about in conversation very briefly, but it could still be triggering to some. Stay safe, and happy reading <3

Laurens had not killed for five days.They were running low on meat, but he did not feel like taking patients.He'd purchase some chicken, maybe modify the menu for a while.What was the point to it-the killings?First, a stand against Francis fucking shameful sodomite Kinloch, and then it was because the next man who came in was manic and alone and Laurens assessed that he was stupid, unsuccessful, lazy, self-deprecating and self-pitying and rude-plump and better as food than a waste of oxygen with a fixation to his opium pipe.There was also a person who swore they recognized him, insisting they knew he was the same doctor who had been banished for sodomy fifteen years prior, so when they continued to assert this and went on about how they were to tell their brother all about it, Laurens offed them.Then the next people, Laurens swore he had good reason, that these people were just the worst, didn't deserve life, but he could not remember why or which one had done, said, or been afflicted with what.

He helped people, mostly, but began turning them away under the guise of feeling unwell himself.He didn't feel well.He was sick with jealousy and sadness. 

He had not spoken to his partner in the bar downstairs for these five days-not since he walked off.Hamilton seemed too hurt to wish to speak.Laurens also noticed Hamilton turned away personal patrons, however kept the bar up and running in the afternoon and evening into late in the night.Perhaps Hamilton was still taking patrons, just not when Laurens may notice.

There was only one inquirer Laurens did not turn away, this on the fifth day of the standoff between he and Hamilton.At the door of his practice was his young brother, at first smiling, but his lips faltering to a frown when he opened the door to see John Laurens was not quite so elated.

"James, whatever are you doing here?" asked Laurens.Behind him on a table was a bloodied cloth, though the scene was clean--as he'd both cleaned and hadn't raised a scalpel of late.

"Am I to be surprised, that you are at your own practice?On the street we departed from, last we met?"

"I suppose not."

"I came to visit with you, dear Jack."

"I see."He swallowed."Come downstairs then, I'll pour us some drinks."

Laurens led his younger brother down into the pub.

"You run this bar, too?" asked James, fascinated.

"Yes, we do." 

James noticed Hamilton behind the counter.He was slumped against it, a bottle in his left hand and a pen in the other, appearing to have perhaps dozed off while writing or working or drinking with the façade of working.

"Hamilton," said Laurens begrudgingly."Hamilton.Wake up."He snapped a couple of times. 

Hamilton raised his head and wiped at his dreary face.He set down the bottle.He looked to James with a confused countenance.

"This is my brother, James.He's come for a drink."

Hamilton nodded and reached for a couple of glasses behind him.

"James, this is Hamilton.We run this establishment."

Hamilton laughed-he sounded delirious."And what a _fiiiine_ establishment it is, yes, Laurens?"

"Yes..." Laurens said slowly.He swiped a bottle and poured a couple of drinks for he and his brother at the bar.Hamilton was farther down the bar, sat upon a stool, apparently having been drinking and slacking off.Laurens didn't know this.He didn't care enough to check.

He didn't check because he didn't want to look like he cared enough to check.

"What brings you to the neighborhood, James?"

James tapped on his glass."I told you, I wished to visit."He looked up."I assure you, Father does not know you are here. I thought you should like to catch up."

"What on?"

"Life, dear brother, life.How have you been? Don't tell me you wish not to speak, now that you are home and it has been over a decade. We must make up for lost time."

Laurens looked to Hamilton for a moment, who was shamelessly taking another long drink from his bottle in the background. 

"Never mind how I've been." He put on a smile. "I should have asked: how have you been?Martha?Harry?Little Polly, has she gone to school, yet?"

"Oh, yes, of course.Our dear Mary Eleanor has been attending a nice university up in Toronto.She even wears the breeches she was so longing for."

"What a time of change."

"Yes, and at that, good change, methinks.She is much happier now."

"I'm glad.If I write a letter, will you pass it along?Just don't tell her where I am living."

"Of course."

"Laurens, you never told me... much about your family..." said Hamilton, now resting his face in his cheeks and giggling."Laurens?"

"Mind yourself.Retire to bed if inclined you so are to mumble in your stupor.My brother is company."

"What was it- James?Hi, sir.My name is A-Lex-An-Der."

James wanted to say that he was no child-but that was not his place.This was his brother's drunken friend.

"Actually, Jacky," he said, casual, relaxing his shoulders, "I came to tell you something."

"What is it?"

"Well, it is about your friend, Mr. Kinloch."

Hamilton grinned and giggled some more, perked up."Please, do shoot the breeze in this direction, young sir.What's this you say of Mr. Kinloch?Oh, dearest Laurens, was-"

"Alexander."

Hamilton had a coy grin, mouth open and tongue poised to begin his speech. 

"You shut your mouth if you know what's good for you, Mr. Hamilton.I mean it.You do not want to find yourself among those whom I hold in poor esteem."

"Your words intend to mean, like Mr. Kinloch?" he teased.

James piped up, "Am I to understand that your kinship with Mr. Kinloch has passed?"

"Oh, it certainly has 'passed'-" began Hamilton, who was promptly cut off.

"Yes.Mr. Kinloch and I are not speaking."

"He's certainly not."

"He is _nobody_ but a _stranger_ to me," Laurens said slowly, convincing to the naïve young man before him.The _warning_ in his tone, however, was for Hamilton.

"But whatever happened?I recall you being good friends when I was younger.He'd visit."

"Not much to concern yourself with, brother.He just decided his wants were above our friendship-and selfishly cast me aside.It's nothing really, just a minor squander which unfortunately culminated to the end of a friendship we once held sacred."

Hamilton was watching him carefully."That it?"

"Hamilton."He did not turn to him."Do yourself well and go to bed already.Now."

Hamilton rolled his eyes and mocked, "'Go to bed, now.'"

"I am only asking—"

"'Alex, tend the bar.'"

"Alexander-"

"Alex, light my cigar.''Alex, stop your worrying and yapping!''Alex, Alex, Alex, shut up!Shut your mouth, _Alexander_!Go to bed, now, _Alexander_!'"He shook his head madly, hands thrown in the air through laughter."Well!Great we established I am your servant, then!I shall be off to bed promptly and later we shall discuss my punishment for _daring_ to speak in your presence!"

"Alexander-" he tried one last time, incredibly embarrassed this terrible display was witnessed by his brother.

"No, I told you, I am off to bed, now, like an obedient child.You enjoy your talk," he said, in a manic state, beginning to leave.He returned to take with him his bottle of alcohol, then stormed off to the upstairs lodging.

"I am so sorry-" began James.

"No, it is quite all right.Hamilton's a drunk fool. A goddamned _fool,_ " he said angrily, then evened his voice again. "I beg your pardon.Please, disregard his antics."

"Dear brother," began James, suspiciously looking around."Well... as I said, what I came to talk to you about - rather, who - is, in fact, Mr. Kinloch.Perhaps this news will sadden you, but perhaps not if you have severed your friendship with him."

"What is it?"He already had a pretty good idea of what this could be about.

"He was not attending Sunday service for a while," he said, and Laurens felt his blood run cold."His wife said he went out one day, did not say where he was going-and never returned."

Laurens nodded in understanding."What misfortune."

"I thought perhaps... he would have stopped to see you home."

"No, not recently."He knew he must decide on a story, a good lie-fast."Last I spoke with him was very early on, many, many months ago when I first returned, I ran into him," he lied, and knew his brother would believe it, knew the boy was smart but trusting, "and that is the extent."

"I see.Was he in good spirits?"

"That, I cannot say.We did not talk long and it was not pleasant."

"Yes."James knew better than to enquire.The eldest Laurens did not speak up about such trivial matters."Quite unfortunate.I am sorry to hear it."

"Don't feel so.Let us discuss other matters."

"I know when you are trying to change the subject."

Laurens' brow furrowed."I am not."

"You are."

"How do you know me so?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You haven't seen me since you were—"

"But you are my flesh and blood.And I do remember you. You are evasive in nature."

"James..." He sighed. 

"Then let's talk of something else.What is on your mind?"

"What of... Frances Eleanor?How is she?My baby..."

"Father calls her just 'Eleanor.'You'd forget she had a first name. She is a happy girl, I think."

"More than that, Jemmy."

"She's smart, kind.Patsy did so much for her.Father keeps her more locked up than anything, more so with Patsy gone.Frances should have liked to join her in England, but Father said it was too dangerous."

"Is he good to her?"

"That I know, yes, of course.I think he misses children."

"If he cares so much about children now, he should have missed us when we were still around, or he should have missed me for fifteen years.He—" He cut himself off."I imagine he speaks nought of me."

James shook his head gravely slow."No, Sir, I'm sorry."

"As suspected.He should like to forget I exist."

"Jack, fret not. Father is a hard man.You know he is not very changeable, a flaw in his character, though we'd never say it, would we?His stubbornness is his ideals and religion make him cold-that is not your fault.Don't forget that Harry, Martha, Mary Eleanor and I have all experienced the same... tender love of dear Father... we know how he is, and we don't hold that to you.I certainly could not, even as much as we all love him."

"Thank you, Jemmy."

"If permissible, I ask now about Mr. Hamilton.Does he know..."

Laurens' fist tightened."What is your concern?"

"I wish to understand you better.I don't understand why you were exiled or... anything.But I do so wish to.Without judgement."

"You couldn't understand.And besides, it's personal.Shameful.I don't wish to discuss, frankly."

"Please."

"James.What would Father say?That you visit is inappropriate as it is.You should have no want to see your estranged brother."

James took a deep breath."I apologize.Let's talk of something else."

• • •

Once James left, Laurens immediately tore up the stairs to Hamilton's room.He did not knock.

Hamilton lay on the bed, near-empty bottle beside his face.

"Good eve.Come to make a pie of me at last?"

"You would like that, wouldn't you!Do you drink to die?!

"I drink to numb."

"Is this to make me pity you?You are angry I caught you and to spite me you drink yourself half to death to frighten me?Make me sorry?Take you back?"

"'Take _me_ back'?"Hamilton scoffed, lolling his hand about."Hand over the opium pipe, Dear."

"Whatever is the matter with you?Do you hate me?"

"Do so wish I _could_ ," he muttered.

"If not, why do you treat me so?Teasing our secret to my own brother?How dare you?"Laurens' glare intensified as his lover remained silent."How dare you?"

Hamilton sat up."How dare I?How dare you, for holding my heart captive!"

"Whatever is _that_ supposed to mean?!"

"You kill people and we feed them to our customers!" he shouted, suddenly very sober-shutting Laurens up.

Laurens' fists tightened.A tension hung in the air for a moment. 

"Shut up."

Hamilton stood, wobbling."No, I will not!You have me at the prick of your dagger!Allow me some fun once in a blue moon!"

"'Fun'!Telling my brother about-"

He stood before him now, fists beating at Laurens' chest and shoulders.Laurens grabbed him and shoved him against the wall by his neck.

"Yes!" shouted Hamilton at last."It is fun!I just take such pleasure in-"

"You incorrigible-"

Hamilton kicked at him."Can't you see: I am only teasing you!You react with such passion, it is my only source of entertainment, my only outlet to deal with the horse shit you drag me through!With your temper, your indecisiveness, your fucking murders-!"

"It was your idea!Shut your mouth, it was your idea."

Laurens did not release his throat, despite Hamilton having kicked him again."I did not tell you to kill him!"

"But you are the one who came up with the idea of-"

"For that fucking Kinloch fellow, not... not forever!How do you decide?"

His grip tightened, knee between Hamilton's to keep him from kicking."What?"

"I asked, how do you decide who lives and who dies?Who do we make pies of?Who gets actual medical treatment?"He pushed at Laurens' hands just to put up some sense of resistance, sure by now it was more for show.

Laurens was unsure if Hamilton was actually asking or just mocking him. "What? Why does it matter?"

"It matters to me!I simply cannot stand you anymore!Why do you kill people?I cannot understand-"

Laurens wanted to squeeze his neck - he was frustrated by Hamilton's yapping but didn't want to bring to him harm, not if he was just bluffing.He couldn't... not Hamilton."No, you cannot understand it.You never will."

"Stop it with these dark statements; you scare me!"

"Then what are you going to do about it?Tell the law?"

Hamilton squeezed Laurens' forearms as he felt pressure.His words came strained, "No.Sir.What is- your fixation with me tattling on you?I am an _accessory_!"

"But you hope you can get your nose clean if you tell your narrative first."

"No, I-"

"Then you shall leave me, to free yourself of the obligation to keep quiet."

"You are insane!I would never-"

"Then what are your threats?!"

"Shut the fuck up and listen to me!I don't know!I'm begging you-if you don't stop killing-to, at the very least, tell me why!Explain to me why you do what you do so that I may hear you and understand - because I do not understand-" Laurens did not squeeze harder, rather he let up a little, and moved his hand farther up Hamilton's throat to pinch his jaw between his thumb and index finger."John, don't you trust me? I only wish to understand."

"How shall I trust you when you threaten expositions to get a rise out of me?"

"How do I trust you when you are so apt to threaten my life if I should cross you?!John - how could I so much as think of crossing you when you have your hand to my throat," he whispered, no longer fighting."Please, John.Why are we fighting?"

He looked him in the eyes.Hamilton's breaths filled the room.

After a moment's passing, Laurens released any last pressure, finding himself through the long-fleeting anger to return to his body.He didn't want to bring harm to his lover.

So, he no longer held him so.He only held his face, so they'd remain facing one another.He used his own body against Hamilton's to keep him pressed to the wall.He was angry, but behind all of that, more so hurt and tired and ashamed."I apologize earnestly... but I cannot trust you."

"Why not?"He leaned into his hands.

"Because."

" _I_ should not trust _you_.I know you will snuff my life when you are finally done putting up with me."

"That is not true."

"It is not?What could I have done to be not trusted by you, while I still entrust to you my very life?"

"You don't need me.Sexual sin is nothing to you.You put a price to it.It's cheap and pointless, and I-I don't wish to even try trusting somebody who-"

"What," said Hamilton, "so back to all this again: that I am a whore?And because I am a whore, that is the extent of what I am?Cease the deception. Believe me, John Laurens, you do not wish to fight me on this.The root of your worries lies in your jealousy."

"I am not jealous."

"You would not raise such a storm otherwise, were you not jealous."

Laurens' grip tightened again, this time on Hamilton's jaw, keeping his face set close, and he insisted, "I am not jealous."

Hamilton snapped his face away from him."Jealousy is quite the hideous color on you."

Laurens yanked his face back."God be damned, you never stop."

"You are a foul-mouthed, ill-tempered, green-faced moron, John Laurens.I drink myself sick to forget how much I long for you."

"You drink yourself sick to forget your own shame.You are made of glass."

"Fuck yourself."

"Who is foul-mouthed, now?"

Hamilton broke his grip.He shoved Laurens by the chest until he had him on the bed.Laurens, rather pink with shock, simply allowed it to happen.Hamilton, atop, fists on his collar, shook him, voice now practically vibrating with frustration."I _hate_ fighting with you!"

"Then let us cease."

"But I am so angry at you."

"I am angrier."

"No," proclaimed Hamilton, " _I_ am."

"You betrayed me.You-"

"I did no such a thing!It is not _betrayal_.You never told me not to.You do not _own_ me.I was doing it long before you came along, and besides, I _assert_ that I am _not_ your bitch-" he felt so much anger that in that moment he just grabbed Laurens' face."I wish I could hate you, Dear, I do so wish I could."

Laurens felt shivers up his back, suddenly truthful."...I do not wish to hate you.I am sorry you wish to hate me."

Hamilton kissed him.

Laurens kissed him back with glutton, wholly obsessed with everything, enthralled in the romance, the sensuality-he needed him.He kissed until he couldn't breathe, having forgotten to."Alex-"

Shushing him, Hamilton smoothed his collar.He was touching him just to do it, just to have the moment.He whispered, "None of that."

Laurens' countenance read confused, as though he wanted to take Hamilton and squeeze the life out of him, or perhaps hold him down, perhaps kiss him more.He truly did not know what he wanted anymore.One moment, they were fighting; the next moment, he simply could not keep his hands off of him-because he needed his touch. 

Hamilton rubbed the lower juncture of Laurens' throat.He pressed his nose to Laurens' cheek, teasing a kiss as he murmured, "I know you feel envious of the men, when you think of them, wondering why they may receive my touch - and yet, not you.And you think because I require payment for them, I held out on you for the same reason.John Laurens, if I could swear it and prove to you that never was and never will be the case, I would do so in the beat of my heart.If I may swear it now-John Laurens, I swear you are not my cull-I shall prove it the best I am able.You wish for my touch?Then, no more words, let us just..." he breathed deeply, "indulge ourselves in pleasure."

"You swear..."

"Yes, Laurens!I swear you are not a cull.I wish to fuck you.If it pleases you to know: I do not like the culls I pleasure for work.And furthermore, it is in a state wholly devoid-" of dignity, "of pleasure, of attachment.You are not like those men."

Hamilton made Laurens feel vulnerable-desperately worried about his appearance, his role, about Alexander's being tipsy, about his own melting frustrations, about the fact that he could be just another customer-he didn't want that.He didn't want a man for fucking rent.

"Kiss me," said Hamilton.

"You've been on the bottle..."

"I am always on the bottle.Kiss me."

"Hamilton."

He leaned off of Laurens to retrieve the bottle by his bed, popped the cork, and held it to his lover's lips."Drink, then kiss me."

Laurens let Hamilton practically bottle feed him the alcohol.Hamilton took a drink himself.He gave Laurens a little more before pressing in the cork and stashing it.

"Kiss me," he commanded, for the last time.

"All right."He relented, leaned in."All right.Then... I suppose - let us indulge."

"You give in so easily."

Laurens felt such an indignant protest arise, feeling whiplash, "I-"

His sentence went unfinished when Hamilton kissed him.

• • •

Laurens laid awake for an hour, Hamilton's forehead against his side with his arm up over his chest.He was so pretty asleep nude.Laurens admired it.

But only for a moment.He looked away, grew numb to the heat and no longer could care.He thought about Kinloch.

He thought about hurling.

But it had to be done.If he hadn't done that, Kinloch would have alerted the authorities and there would be no kisses with Hamilton, then.He had to kill Kinloch.It was him or... Hamilton.

He didn't give a shit, of course, except...

He had to kill Kinloch. 

He still had to find his daughter.

A terrible thought arose-that he should forget her.He'd been gone too long.It no longer mattered.

Laurens wanted to jump through the fucking window.What a horrible thought.How could he imagine so?Except he was indulging in old habits rather than searching for her.He was fucking a man whore.Hamilton's slight shift in his sleep reminded Laurens of the man he held, so he held him closer.He wasn't a whore.He was not.Only in a professional sense.Laurens needed more heat... to stave off the cold.He felt so cold.

Hamilton stretched, eyes opening stutteringly in the early morning, right before the sunrise was visible.He sort of cleared his throat and leaned into Laurens more."Morning, John..."

Laurens put an arm behind the small of his back and hooked him closer."Good morning."

Hamilton could never feel more glad the affection was favored above all else right now.It was so nice.He liked when Laurens was sweet to him.

"Did you sleep all right?" murmured Hamilton, noticing the shadows accentuated in the hazy, dim light beneath Laurens' eyes.He wanted to kiss the sorrow and exhaust away.

Laurens told him he slept well.He kissed his forehead, rubbing his head. 

"Let's take a vow," said Laurens, startling even himself.

Hamilton laughed at him."What sort of 'vow'?"

"Never to again fight."

It sounded too good to be true."I would enjoy such."He let Laurens keep his body close as they spoke, warm beneath the snow white sheets. 

Laurens said, "We are partners in crime, after all.If we cannot trust one another, we have nothing."

Hamilton agreed.

"I'll never bring you harm."

"I'm sorry for threatening you," said Hamilton."As you say... your trust is something I never wish to take for granted again.I promise you may trust me."

"I love you, I do believe."

Hamilton didn't know those words had such an effect on him.He didn't want 'I believe;' that was horse shit."You believe."

"I don't know if I've ever loved somebody truly.It is such a trivial word, after all.I'm sorry."

Hamilton kissed him; allowed himself to be kissed; sunk further into the bed with Laurens' hands behind his head and on the curve of his back.If this was love, what it felt like to truly be loved, he loved it, and told Laurens he didn't care what he called it, it felt like love.

If love, or rather, "I love you, I do believe,"-love was Laurens kissing his nose before disappearing beneath the blankets, Hamilton both loved it and wanted it for the rest of his days.

He could get used to this.

• • •

Laurens had allowed himself to get frightfully distracted, what with all this Hamilton drama.He was glad for it, but missed his goals.He had almost thought about giving up.

But he couldn't.Frances Eleanor was his daughter.He wasn't going to let her life be fucked up by that cruel Henry Laurens.

Hamilton was leaned over the counter, pouring a drink."Where're you off to, Sir?"

He buttoned up his coat."Out.I have an important meeting with somebody from my past.We'll talk later."

"Right, then.Want a drink for the road?"

"I am going to have to decline, my apologies.I won't be long."

Hamilton gave him a smile."Adieu, my dear.I shall see you shortly, then."

"Yes, adieu."

Hamilton smiled even when he left, but felt his shoulders slump.They always said "adieu."Sometimes, he didn't even think about it.Other times, the word choice gave him a fright, and he wondered if it was just a coincidence that they'd always said "adieu," as if it could be forever - even though they planned they'd never part.Or Hamilton had planned to never part.He always planned to never part, to be fair, though he was so used to having his life fucked up by the world, having his lovers taken from him, that maybe being prepared for heartbreak would be beneficial in the long run - maybe "adieu" was just right.He never truly knew if he'd see Laurens again whenever they parted.

He finished the last fifth of the bottle and headed downstairs.There were plenty of customers during the day, still.

Customers such as Jonathan Clark.Ah, Clark.An interesting guy, always proper and polite, about seven years older than the naïve Hamilton, who thought he could have perhaps loved him - he loved lots of people, very truly did he love them - but Clark had a wife, and for too long, Clark did not want anything more to do with Hamilton besides their paid sessions.Then Laurens waltzed into his life, made it quite interesting, and Hamilton rarely thought about Clark.

But the one thing about Clark, is that he was one of the only culls Hamilton would allow to fuck him.They didn't do it every time, but sometimes, when Hamilton was longing for it, he'd put the offer on the table.Clark never asked him himself.He thought it to be rude.

The other weird thing about Jonathan Clark was that although he had not shown interest beyond the general friendship that comes with screwing somebody for years before now, he seemed to have gradually been falling in love with the man.Why shouldn't he?In Clark's defense, he just always thought he could not.He thought his wife would occupy his mind too much, and that salving his desires would cure him of attachment of the heart, so that he could be happy in matrimony - but Clark had to admit that he had little understanding of this general concept.He was trying so hard.It was blowing up in his face.He saw Hamilton more and more often, because he was the only thing that made sense even though he was well aware he should feel wrong. 

Clark even frequented the bar to see Hamilton, buy drinks and talk and hope he wanted to throw in an extra session during an evening a few times.Once, Hamilton gave him that additional session.He and Laurens were fighting at the time.It felt good to pretend Clark was just a friend again, before he was his client, and imagine, as he used to, that Clark loved him.It was always so easy to imagine, as Clark had always been nothing but kind and affectionate, even when they had only first met.It was only unrealistic because he knew Clark personally, and knew the man believed in his whole theory that his wife would keep him satisfied.Clearly, not enough.

Laurens wasn't aware, but there were actually quite a few fellas and ladies who quite fancied Hamilton, knowing him usually through his work, and would actually stalk around the bar to watch him, glad now that there were crowds and to be seen around Alexander Hamilton was no longer a scandal.Sometimes, it freaked Hamilton out, but he never asked them to leave because he didn't want to call attention to it, for the sake of anyone and everyone involved.

Hamilton noticed the increased frequency of Clark's visits.He wasn't like those other clients, but he was still a client, and Hamilton felt it would be unfaithful to pursue an emotional relationship again.The sex was his work, so it had to remain simply such.He made that clear to Clark back when he first began to charge.

When Hamilton ventured downstairs, the first person waiting at his door was none other than Jonathan Clark.

"Clark."Hamilton put on a smile."Hello, my sir.How may I help you?"

Clark stepped inside the building and kissed him.It was quite unusual.Hamilton liked having control, setting rules, because he was his own pimp and had to protect himself and all that and really, he shouldn't be allowing Clark to break protocol, even if he was the truly sweetest brown-haired man you'd ever meet, even if he knew Clark personally and even if he knew him before his own life went downhill and he was forced into a position where it was either whore himself out or not pay his taxes and end up in jail-and Alexander Hamilton was no tax-evading no-good debtor.It was good that Clark, who usually was the most generous in his payments, visited the most often.

Hamilton pushed Clark away, albeit gently, a great part of him concerned by Clark's display.Had something happened to the man?"Whatever is the matter?"

"There is no matter but you, Alex, come here."He kissed either side of his face."How are you?"

Hamilton turned, crossing his arms and striding through the room beneath

his building from which he conducts his business."Just well.Tea?"

"Tea?What time have we for tea?"

"In a rush, are we?"

"Not at all.I only mean I wish to spend all my time I have with you."

Hamilton chuckled, setting down the kettle."And how much time might that be?"

"Depends on how much time you have."

He raised a brow."Now, Clark, I don't have all day."

"Two hours?"

"Two hours?"He sort of laughed."All right, then.Just a moment."He opened the door, put the sign up outside so they would not be disturbed, and locked it."What do you wish for me to do for you today?" 

Clark sat on the bed."Come here."

Hamilton went.

"Lay down."

"You know the rules, Sir.Show me the coins."

Clark pushed a faux eye-roll and pulled a small purse of coin from his jacket, and shook it."Good enough, dirty crook?"

It could have paid for three hours, by the sound of it.Hamilton nodded.

"Good, then lay down.You'll get your coin after."

"Watch your tone."

Clark took his hand."I apologize.Please?"

Hamilton laid down on the bed. 

Clark planted a kiss on his cheek, first.He admired Hamilton for a moment before shifting to get atop him, knee between his thighs."Stop giving me that look, Hamilton."

"What look?"He lowered his head and smiled up at Clark."This look?"

"You are irresistible."

"I am well aware.Undress."

Clark was laughing as he rested over him, hands on either side of his head."I could eat you for dinner."

He swallowed."Yes, you are hilarious."

"Alexander, you make it too good to turn down.You're a sin, my sin, I love you.I'll fuck you until your pretty skin turns blue."

Hamilton scoffed, as Clark was getting very much ahead of himself, but did not stop the progression of events.He kissed him when Clark kissed him, undressed himself when Clark undressed him, and played along. 

He just knew that this was a warning sign Clark was getting too close.

• • •

Meanwhile, Laurens was heading towards the estate of Henry Laurens.

The brick had not changed in fifteen years.It was like it was trapped in time.Marble pillars.Fanciful architectural design.Laurens rang the bell at the door after walking up the long path.All this land, all these homeless, and Henry Laurens dwelled here - overseeing it all.

The maid who opened the door wore dark-colored clothes with an apron and bonnet."Good morning, Monsieur.I was not aware of any appointments for Mr. Laurens today.How may I serve you?"

She had a thick French accent.

"I'm looking to speak with Mr. Laurens."

"And who are you, Monsieur?Come in, please.May I take your outerwear?"

"I am a business owner in-city down the way a little.I will keep my coat on, if that is all right."He took off his hat and held it."May I speak to Mr. Henry Laurens, please?"

"What matters are in need of discussion?"

"Business matters.Please."

"I will be just a moment.Do you have a name, Monsieur?"

Laurens sighed. "Yes.Of course.My name is John Ball."

"John Ball.I will speak with Maester Laurens and return promptly.Please," she repeated, "take a seat, if you wish."

While she was gone, Laurens browsed the artwork in the atrium.Sculptures, paintings.Family portrait of the Laurens siblings-without him in it.The faces of his loved ones, forgotten.Oil smudges.He missed them.A portrait of his mother and father, his mother with a baby; it was painted to be of him, but it could have been any of his siblings, which is why it was still up.Not one work was of him.He remembered when this atrium had at least three portraits of himself.To repaint the family portrait without him was just mean.

The maid returned."Monsieur Laurens will see you, now.Come along."

He followed her through the halls and up the stairs to an office.Henry Laurens did not look up at first.When the maid left, he recognized his son.What to say? 

Laurens had speeches upon speeches planned, but he struggled to find something to say, too."Mr. Henry Laurens, Senior."

"Close that door behind you."Henry Laurens stood as he closed it."Why did you return?"

"You did not miss me, Father?"

"Why did you return?"

"You know it was not for you.I am here for my daughter."

Henry Laurens seemed enraged."You think you can simply come here and claim her?You are _still_ in exile, for what I care, John.You disgust me.I will not have you as my son - and I will not have your perversion seep into my granddaughter!"

"'Perversion'?"He felt so indignant.He had no argument.Yes, he was perverse.It was the truth.He could not help but love Alexander."I'm... I..."

"And after fifteen years!The girl does not even know her mother or father."

"What happened to her?Martha?" he asked.

"Martha Manning?Your wife took her own life, not long after you were banished.Take your best guess as to why."

"Why would she do such a thing?"

"A sin," said Henry Laurens, "but not yours.You corrupted the family name.I do not wish to have you in my sight, in my home, or near my family.Leave here."

"Not without my daughter."

"Did you hear me?You will not be making contact with that young lady.Leave my home, or ruffian hands will escort you out."

"Let me see Frances!"

"No, John.Leave here."

Laurens' fist tightened, and he was not about to leave."No.She is my daughter.I want you to tell her who I am and let me see her.This is not a request.I- I'll take you to court."

"Will you?And you think you can win?You think we should head north, east, west, or south and find a court who does not relish their allegiance to me?I am untouchable.You are an exiled sodomite.Get out of my damned sight."

"Do not call me such things."

"Oh, did the exile cure your condition? Or is my eldest son still _fucking boys!?_ "

"I hate you."

"Good! I am no longer the man who raised you."

Henry Laurens walked from behind his desk.The man was walking with the aid of a cane these days.John Laurens was unsure how he felt to see his father in such a state. 

His shoulders felt tense."Is it your knee again?" he asked, even though he did not want to. 

"The good one this time."

John Laurens' face fell."How did you hurt it?"

Henry Laurens said, "Wherein lies your concern?"He tapped the cane on the hardwood a couple of times."Or are you prying about my condition in hopes I'll soon pass?"

"You hold such low opinion of my character...You may have exiled and disowned me, but I should worry for my father's health."

"You are of lowly character.Express your worries for my health all you wish, it will not bring you closer to my granddaughter or make you any less filthy."He opened the door."You have no place here."

John Laurens exhaled."No; seems I never did."He passed his father, angry he expressed his honest concern to a cold man.He should have known by now that no display of emotion was enough to get to Henry Laurens' pathos." _Do_ fall down the stairs, old man."

"' _Concerned_ for your father's health,'" he repeated.He did not need to tell his estranged son to leave again - he was down the hall and stairs in no time.He knew the way out of his own childhood home.

Before he left, he stopped at the portrait-covered mantle again, for a last moment of his lost family to be instilled in him-but it brought him greater sadness.

A photo of his mother in pink sent him into a shocked state momentarily.He remembered when she got it done.He remembered her posing for it, and he remembered - it was the one displayed at her funeral.And suddenly he remembered that, too.She wore white.She looked like an angel, glowing, transparent pasty skin, pale blonde hair, powdered and embalmed.They had the casket open for the funeral.Not many could afford such privileges in their society.He got to see her one last time in a church in a bed of white flowers in a hardwood casket. 

He reached to take the portrait.It was just barely larger than his hand. 

"What are you doing?"

He froze, looking to the woman's voice.He held the portrait to his chest.He didn't want to part with her. 

"That's my mother's portrait," the woman said, hurriedly approaching. "Who are you!"

"M-Mary?" he asked quietly, focused on this girl, dawned in warms, like a summer portrait.Her skirt was dark brown tweed, woolen and academic, with a wool waistcoat of a matching pattern, and a yellow blouse.Her brown hair was curled, half-up with a braided bun."Mary Eleanor?"

Her eyes drew into confusion."I beg your pardon?Just who are you?"

"Your brother," he said, mouth drawing into a smile."Is it you?"

She took a step back.Why was she brave against a possible intruder, a strange man, but eyes turned cautious when faced with her own brother?"Does... Father know you are here?"

"I am on my way out."

"Then... I imagine I am not supposed to be speaking to you.You should put that portrait back," she whispered, beginning to pivot away.

"Wait, Mary Eleanor, please don't go.You were a child when I saw you a last... What is so wrong with speaking to your brother?Is- is Frances here?"

She seemed conflicted."Father..."

"Please, Mary Eleanor.I don't know who you think I am, but I am not a bad person.James will talk to me.He will tell you.Where is he?"

She stepped back again."I do not know you."

"But I am-"

"You may be, but we are strangers.I have no memory of you." 

John Laurens felt a pang, as he'd said the same to James out of frustration.  It hurt to hear. He regretted it, now.

"And you were gone for so long, I- I am unsure I should... associate myself..."

Laurens swallowed."Mary Eleanor.He did this to me."

"...I think... you must have done this to yourself."

"No, he did this to me.He fought to get rid of me.He wanted to exile me all along.It does not matter what I did, what I did-Mary Eleanor, you must understand, what I did, it was not- he- he weaponizes it, he used it against me, and what horrors he says to you, I do not know, but I am not a bad person."He felt like it had to be a lie."I am not.He is."

She looked very upset, like she suddenly might cry."Leave the portrait."She turned and left.

He watched her go.He put the portrait back.

He went home.

• • •

Laurens knew he should open the bar, serve some folks rather than wallowing, but Hamilton was with a client downstairs, so he felt more like wallowing.He imagined he could hear whatever was going on-he couldn't-but in his head, there were two nightmare scenarios: one, that Hamilton was enjoying himself too much, that some other man was better to Hamilton than he, more attractive, more sane, or two, that Hamilton was not enjoying himself and there were mean clients who'd hurt him.Hamilton always reassured Laurens that he takes no shit and would not allow it, but Laurens knew how men were, even to other men.It made him feel nauseous.

So he sat in the empty bar and poured himself a drink as soon as he returned from his father's estate.He had hoped to forget his worries in Hamilton, but he was instead forgetting them in the bottle.

When Hamilton did emerge, not much pinker in the cheeks than usual, he seemed too tired to listen to Laurens' worries.Laurens wouldn't share them.

"How did your... thing go?" asked Hamilton quietly.Laurens' dark countenance and the way he downed that alcohol seemed to be an indication he should not even ask. 

Laurens looked to him, slumped against his arm bent on the counter.He only reached for another bottle and offered it to Hamilton.

Hamilton sat beside him, took a swig, and leaned against him."Did anything good happen?" he asked hopefully; anything at all?

Laurens shook his head."Sister wishes not to see me.Father called me scum..."

Hamilton, though he'd just spent two hours fucking and pleasing, raised his arm and rubbed Laurens' back to comfort him.He'd always comfort his loved ones, and especially Laurens."I'm sorry."

Laurens shook his head again.He figured Hamilton seemed tired and sad."How about you?"

"Same old."

Laurens kissed his head."How do you feel we should spend this afternoon?Do you wish to share a meal?"

"Let us do that... But let me dress first."

"In that case, we first shall dress then go out."

• • •

Laurens had not killed in some time. 

A woman came in, face all red, purple, raw and terrified.She spoke English well enough, but was a first generation Chinese immigrant.She begged for Laurens' help, worried the doctor would turn a poor immigrant away.He took her in, asked immediately if she was all right and offered her commodities.She was a stranger to such kindness. 

Laurens asked her what happened to her.

She said she was attacked, but left it at that. 

After spending the morning treating her, Laurens had learned the perpetrator was some rotten man who hurt her when she was pushed too far.She left the brothel early in the morning, despite her injuries, in hopes of finding treatment before the brothel madame caught sight of her.She was worried she'd be thrown out, a liability for death or legal action.

He reassured her that although she sustained extensive injuries, she was going to live, and be okay.He sent her on her way with a bottle of ginger tincture and cocaine tablets for pain, free of charge.He warned her to err on the side of caution-but she would have to live her own life, and Laurens knew that if prostitution was a part of that life, he couldn't stop her.There was little else he could do to promote her social standing.

By the end of this consultation, he had found out the identity of the man who hurt the patient.As soon as she left, he wrote down the bits and pieces of information he'd gathered so he wouldn't forget. 

He kissed Hamilton that evening before parting.

Laurens knew Hamilton would try to talk him out of it, even if he agreed fundamentally, so it was a secret, even though he knew that they were not supposed to he keeping secrets.

Laurens went to this man's house.Picking the lock was not difficult.Remaining silent as he blindly searched for a bedroom was not difficult.Clasping a hand over the man's mouth, then plugging his nose to wake him was not difficult.

The startled man tried to fight, of course, but Laurens subdued him and asked for his name, several times.The man was difficult to get an answer out of, until he heard the click of the safety trigger of a gun.He spat it out promptly.Laurens was relieved this was this right man - and he hit him over the head with the butt of his weapon.

Propping the man up to bring him from the house to the carriage was a little more challenging, but Laurens pulled it off.He hoped the bastard had a bumpy ride, but hopefully not one that'd wake him.He was luckily still knocked out when they'd arrived to London street.He transported him to the bar, then down to the basement. 

Hamilton heard all this commotion.He went to see what Laurens was doing, and almost shouted Laurens' name as he demanded to know what was going on.

Laurens, who was restraining their guest, decided he'd obviously have to come clean."We need more meat."

"What!" said Hamilton."That is not-"

"Shh, please, do not be upset."He approached, leaving the man sort of half-restrained to reassure Hamilton-touch his cheek."We cannot fight."

"Then we will not fight, but I am... hurt and confused, I don't understand why you are doing this.I don't want you to hurt people."

"Alexander..."

"Who even is he?Why did you- I don't- why would you do this?"

"Don't be scared."He rubbed his cheek with his thumb."Dearest, he is a bad man."

"That doesn't mean-"

"There was a prostitute who came in, battered, raped.She thought nobody would help her.Thought she'd lose her job and therefore her place to stay.This man- he is the one who did it.And she says he is regular, and is known to hurt women, and yet the pimps do nothing.The law will do nothing.I had to do something."His comforting strokes slowed, and he brought up his other hand to pull Hamilton's face in."...And we get free inventory out of it."

Hamilton nodded his head hesitantly."If... if he is as bad as you say, so be it.But you cannot go about kidnapping strangers.Tell me first, Mr. L."

Laurens gave him a kiss."Dearest Alexander, I promise to tell you first from here on out."

"Did anybody see you?"

"No.Quite deserted."He looked back to the man."But I must return that carriage tonight.Will you stay here, be sure our friend stays put?" he asked sweetly, eyes filled with stars. 

Hamilton relented once again."Make with haste, please, John Laurens.And be safe."

He gave him another kiss."Sir shouldn't wake up while I'm gone, anyhow.In case he does, make sure those ropes are fastened."

"Yessir."

"I am sorry to have surprised you with this."

"There is no need for secrets."

"You are right.I apologize."

Hamilton kissed him. 

"I will be back very shortly, sir," Laurens whispered."Adieu.I love you."

Hamilton kissed him one last time, close and sad.He felt too much."Love you."

And when Laurens left, Hamilton went to complete the binding.He gave an extra loop around his hands, just to be sure.

And he sat and waited for Laurens.He watched the furnace flicker behind where the man was bound and gagged on his knees.He wondered, guiltily, if Laurens had fibbed to him.It would make perfect sense if he did.Hadn't he changed his argument from 'we need more supply' to 'he is a bad person' as soon as Hamilton was not receptive to the first argument?Shouldn't he have led with the first?

He should have, he knew he should have.In Laurens' defense, he had been caught off-guard, and his first argument was a bad one because his mind wanted to oversimplify the equation rather than just explaining it to Hamilton.

Hamilton did not want to be lied to.Either this man deserves death, or Laurens has a lust for murder.Perhaps both.He truly hoped Laurens would not go out of his way to hurt an innocent man...

He hoped that was not the case.

He couldn't help himself.He shook the man's shoulder, slapped his face, and made shouts to get his attention, before he finally awoke.As soon as the man was up and as soon as Hamilton un-gagged him, he thrashed and demanded to be freed.He demanded to know who Hamilton was.

Hamilton said, "Shut your mouth.You take pleasure in harming women?"

The man spat, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't?You didn't batter a girl so bad she sought medical attention?"

The look in the man's eyes was telling, as if his following statement would not have been enough to confirm his guilt: "Whatever they are paying you, I will pay double."

Hamilton felt anger."I don't want your filthy money.By the looks of it, you are a poor drunkard with a brothel habit.Even if I did accept bribery from you, I doubt you would have nearly enough."

"What do you want!I'll give you anything!"The man was sweating like a hog.Perhaps the heat of the furnace behind him was a reminder of what awaited him after imminent death. 

"I want you to tell me what you did to her.Everything."

"What?You sick-"

Hamilton kicked the fucker in his stomach."You are on trial, here!As the judge, prosecution, and the jury, I request you give a detailed account of your crime.Bear in mind that I will know if you are lying and I will call it, and I will break your goddamned fingers."

"You are bluffing!"

"That is up for you to decide.Consider what you risk if I am not. What did you do to her?"

The man swallowed and said, "I don't even know who you are talking about."

"Why?" snapped Hamilton."Do you rape girls too often to recall this one?"

The man looked around.He was still asking to be free.He even was eyeing the basement stairs, as though he might try to run for it.

Hamilton caught him."If you so much as make a motion as if to stand, I will gladly invert your leg.Now tell me the story."

"You wish to hear a detailed account of how I fuck brothel whores?" angrily asked the hostage."You are sick in the head."

Hamilton hit him across the face.He felt a rush."You think this is for my own sexual pleasure?"He grabbed the man's hand and spread his fingers, a loud crack able to be heard.He yelled in pain."Did I not just tell you that you were on trial?And yet you incriminate yourself while trying like a little bastard to maintain your innocence!Well, you cannot fool me.I know you did it.I know you will suffer for it.I know that between now and you suffering for it, you will tell me what you did, before I give up this low-grade interrogation bullshit for my butchering tools instead."

The hostage stared at Hamilton for just fifteen seconds before Hamilton demanded he speak again.

He knew he had no other choice but admit his crimes.

• • •

Laurens returned to the man awake, again gagged, and Hamilton ten feet across, sitting hunched over himself, face in hands.The hostage's nose was now bloodied, and he looked extremely distressed, more so when Laurens entered.He was struggling, leaned over in a position with his hands together as though he were praying.Salvation for a rapist.

Laurens asked Hamilton if he was okay.

Hamilton looked up.He'd been crying.He stood, and asked Laurens to take their conversation upstairs for a moment.

Once Laurens closed the door behind them, he reached for Hamilton, demanding to know that he was okay.

Hamilton said he got a confession from the man, and that he wanted the task of ending his life.

"What?Darling-"

"I must, please."

Laurens said, "But you do not want to.Believe me.Please, do not bloody your hands."

"My hands have enough dirt and blood for a lifetime.I must do this.I must.That man is guilty.I have no qualms against justice."

"I will bring justice.I am already ruined."

"Please, allow me - for I wish so badly to," he admitted, grabbing Laurens' coat lapels."Your killing scares me, but I-so long as I have to witness and partake in the aftermath, I wish for a chance to experience the main event.I want to kill, to feel what you feel.Please, Mr. L, let me do this," he begged."It would please me."

Laurens looked him in the eyes intensely. "It would please you?" Such as when he killed Kinloch, it pleased Laurens? "You are... certain of this?"

"Yes!There is nothing that could possibly bring me more ease.Allow me."

"Then... I suppose you may... but Alexander, it is not quite so euphoric afterwards."

Alexander smooched his face."No pleasures in which we partake remain euphoric."

"You are precious to me.If you change your mind-"

"Yes."He kissed him again.

Laurens wiped the tears from Hamilton's face, gazing upon him sadly before kissing his forehead and turning to lead the way downstairs.

"Shit." 

Hamilton stood in front of the stairs, guarding them, now.The absence of their gagged and bound hostage would have been more startling if he would not have had to still be in the basement.Now it was a wild goose chase in the dimly lit, low-ceilinged dirt cellar. 

"I am to blame.I knew I should have tied his feet," apologized Hamilton.

Laurens said, "Darling, it is not your fault.He cannot have ventured far.You stay there... I will begin searching."

"Err with caution."

Laurens drew his pistol, moving forward to any identifiable hiding spots.As he patrolled, he told the man to reveal himself, lest he be shot. 

He thought he heard something by the stacks of logs, but it could have been anything, seeing as there was no human.He walked forward.

When he neared the second stretch of the basement on the other side of where the furnace was facing, it was even dimmer, and even more likely the hostage was taking his chances hiding out there.

He stepped, and ran into something metal by his shin, but when he tried to step over it, he heard a woosh of air and felt the presence of another person.He avoided the first hit, but got smacked with the metal pipe in the back then the stomach as he struggled to see the assailant.He heard Hamilton shout his name as a question. 

Laurens managed to grab the pipe the next time it moved.He realized the hostage's range of motion was still limited, as he must have yet to work his binds off. 

The hostage, when he realized Laurens had a hold of the pipe, ran for the light on the other half of the cellar, hoping to dash up the stairs.His heart dropped when he saw Hamilton there, and when he was quickly followed and tackled by Laurens. 

Laurens pulled him onto his knees and put the gun to his head."You fucker!"

Hamilton put his hand over Laurens' on the gun, urging it away.He whispered, "Did he hurt you?"

Laurens shook his head (that was a lie, his body pulsed with pain) as he picked up the pipe he'd tossed when he tackled the hostage.He intended to hand the gun to Hamilton, so he could end the man's life swiftly, but Hamilton insisted on taking the pipe. 

Their friend on the floor of the dirt cellar looked less than pleased to face that psychotic man Hamilton with that goddamned pipe.He begged for life beneath his gag.

Hamilton went straight for a hit to the side that caused the man to fall.Laurens picked him back up, however eyes wide because that meaty crack sounded like broken ribs, and yet Hamilton immediately hit the man's other side as well!

Laurens picked him up again. 

Hamilton put the pipe under the hostage's chin."Look at you.Oh, to have a mirror."He gently pushed the man's sobbing face around with the pipe."You are sickening to bear witness to.John," he said, "isn't he sickening?"

Laurens agreed.

"Did I not promise you I would break the bones in your pathetic body?"He sized up the metal pipe fragment."You even hand-selected your own device with which to do the bone-breaking!"

The man cried, shaking.

"Your display is pathetic.Do you think _broken bones_ -" He smacked the man in the stomach with the pipe, "even _compare_ to what you did to those girls?Look at the big, strong man who needs to force himself upon women to feel like one.Where is that strength now, strong man?"He swung for his head, but it was a bluff.The man winced."Ah!Not yet. We would rather you be conscious." 

Hamilton looked up to Laurens again.

"Pull him to his feet."

Laurens pulled the man to stand.

"It is only appropriate the legs go first, don't you think?I was stupid to not bind them.In fact, I should have outright broken them to start with.Oh, well."He hummed, began to smile, and hit the man's knee so hard it likely shattered his kneecap.He hit it two more times to severely fuck it up, then once more on the other side of the leg to put it back in place.

The man was screaming, and had to be supported by Laurens or otherwise he would not have held himself up. 

Hamilton repeated this sick action to the man's other knee.

Laurens threw the hostage down. 

"If you break them at the joints, like lobsters, they _are_ easier to butcher," said Laurens.

The man shook his head rapidly. _Butcher_?They were going to _eat_ him?What the fuck!What the _fuck_! Nobody would discover his body. These two would get away with it, just like he _almost_ got away with hurting women.

Laurens and Hamilton had, by now, mastered the art of punishing with impunity. 

Hamilton broke the hostage's every finger, his wrists, elbows, ankles, collarbone, and ribs. He had already broken the man's nose when he punched him upon hearing his confession. 

"What now?Your scalp?Teeth?"He looked to Laurens, beginning to laugh."Those rotting things would be so easy to pull out, we wouldn't even need pliers!"

"Alexander, kill him."

 _Laurens_ wanted him to show mercy?

"I will do so when I am done with him," he argued, a little upset that Laurens dared to put a cap on _his_ vengeance.

"He's mangled, bloodied."He didn't want Hamilton to be capable of this."He deserves it, but you deserve to put this ordeal to rest.End his life."

Hamilton looked to the hostage, who lay on the ground, incapacitated to the fullest extent.He no longer thrashed or cried for help.He had given up.The pain was numb to him.

Hamilton felt a lump in his throat.Right, he had to kill him, now.That should have been the easy part.

Putting the man in severe pain was pleasurable, it felt like justice - but to end his life? Decide when the stream of consciousness for an individual ends? Was that right, to take life, even from scum like him?

He raised the pipe to bash the man's head, but it did not kill him or even knock him out the first time.The next hit, the man's eyes seemed to have literally been shaken at the blunt trauma, as he began to bleed more from the fleshy, cracked head wound.Hamilton suddenly could not breathe and he tossed the pipe before he took the gun from Laurens' hands and shot the man between the eyes.Laurens, surprised at the progression of events, reclaimed the weapon.

They stood there for a full five minutes in silence with the body.

Laurens spoke first."We should clean up."

"And what of... him?"

"I will prepare it tonight to cook with tomorrow. You shouldn't worry yourself anymore, it has been a long night. Come along.A hot bath would be nice."

Hamilton nodded.It would be.

• • •

Even though Hamilton seemed to be his perfectly normal happy self the next day, Laurens knew what had happened.

Hamilton may have seemed fine, but such was his nature.He always seemed fine. 

In reality, he saw the man's mangled body everywhere; he heard the man's words of confession every day.He would never forget.

In his sexual relations, he was more distant, with his clients and with Laurens.He had to force himself to be conscious.He had to bury the filth.

When Clark continued to show up too often, Hamilton decided he should put an end to it. 

Well, he had _decided_ that, but a week later still could not.He liked Clark.Clark was good to him.He really was sweet.

But Laurens was sweet too, and Hamilton had an obligation to Laurens.Sure, he'd known Clark longer, and at this point fucked him much, much more, but he and Laurens had a sacred bond.Though as much as Hamilton said that, he had to admit that when you stand a foot away from somebody who is cutting a corpse, they feel like a stranger, and even when they've washed up, even when they hold you at night, they still feel like a stranger; the only thing that can make you forget is alcohol, but you always wake up the next morning.

He loved Laurens.

But he'd always love Clark.

Clark had a wife.Clark could not fraternize with him. 

Laurens' wife was dead.He was already fraternizing with him.They had a good thing going on.They slept together nearly every night, they engaged in sexual as well as romantic and platonic acts of love, they hadn't fought since they agreed not to.It was good.Clark didn't take him out to eat.He couldn't.But Laurens already had no reputation, and could slum with filth and didn't care.Laurens could eat luncheon with him in the park.Clark could or would not. 

Hamilton had this debate a hundred thousand times already and every time, Laurens was his beloved, of course, and the only choice he could make would be to cut Clark off.But he didn't know what that'd do to Clark.As far as he knew, Clark did not fuck anyone but his wife and Hamilton.Their relationship had always been based in emotion and mutual-respect.

Clark, as a bachelor, met Hamilton at a dinner banquet.He talked to him all night.Whenever Hamilton had gone off, he followed eventually, and wanted him desperately.They were young men.Hamilton was boyish, to a girlish extent.He was so gorgeous.Clark knew it was more than a desire for friendship he bore for Hamilton.

They hit it off so well that after a night of casual light drinking at the dinner, they parted together in Clark's carriage and drank quite a bit more at Clark's home.A home to himself, a bachelor?It was good he was still young, or some family might raise brows.He did well to marry when he had.

Clark drank enough to absolve culpability.He'd been getting closer since the carriage ride.He could feel chills in his body at the thought of Hamilton. 

Hamilton knew the look of a man who lusted for him.He knew all night long.He loved feeling chased.With a grin, a little drunken, he asked Clark who the last person he'd fucked was.They sat across from one another.

Clark laughed, leaning over the several feet of floor between them to put a hand on Hamilton's knee.He said he didn't know.

Hamilton asked him how he wouldn't know, and asked if he'd been fucking too many " _people_."He asked if he'd " _kissed a man yet_." 

Clark laughed again.He grabbed both of Hamilton's wrists, standing over him now, and pulled.

Hamilton allowed himself to be pulled up.The kiss he received as soon as he did almost could have knocked him back down, had Clark not hooked an arm around his back.

It was unusual for a man to proceed with sexual acts in the same night he first kisses Hamilton, so Hamilton figured Clark must have been with men before.He hadn't.The only man Clark had and would ever fuck was Hamilton.Not because other men didn't interest him, but because Hamilton was the best.He was a safe bet.He wouldn't expose their secret.

Even when they drifted apart and Hamilton started to put a price on his time, doing poorly financially, and Clark got married, he still went back to Hamilton.It only took him until a month after the wedding.He staved off the desire, promised himself he'd behave and wouldn't give in to the addiction, but he had to have more eventually.

It'd been going on for years.Hamilton couldn't take that away from him.Clark needed him as much as he needed Clark when Laurens was not yet around, and as much as he needed Laurens now that he was.Clark would be heartbroken.

So, as Clark kissed him goodbye, Hamilton swallowed the words once again.It would go on for two more weeks.

And in those weeks, Clark saw him every day-even both Sundays. 

Laurens didn't pay much attention before to who was coming in and out of the building, but he'd unconsciously seen Clark's face enough to begin to recognize it. Of course, he didn't think much about that at first, either, until he noticed that every time this face was around, Hamilton seemed off, and usually they took much more time than anyone else.Hamilton wouldn't talk about him, either; sometimes, he'd mention his other regular clients, most of them just somewhat odd nobodies, some older or younger, and he wasn't incredibly attracted to these people so he joked about them and it eased Laurens' worries.Hamilton never even brought up this familiar face.

And as Laurens first noticed it, he only began to notice it more.He paid attention more.

But when his mind began to wander, somebody returned to his life to set it back on track.

The woman walked in their smoke-filled pub with a white scarf and black hat on her head, a long leather coat, but britches and a waistcoat.She sat at the bar with a man.They took their hats off and waved Hamilton over to serve them drinks. 

Hamilton recognized James Laurens.He wondered if this woman was his spouse or girlfriend.He asked what he could get for them.

They both got beers.

Hamilton left from behind to bar to find Laurens, and let him know his brother was here with a woman.

Laurens went to go tend the bar while Hamilton waited tables instead.

When he noticed the woman was his sister, he felt almost ecstatic."Mary Eleanor, James."

Mary Eleanor looked him in the eyes, unlike when she first discovered his identity.She said, "I wanted to apologize.I asked James to bring me here."

"Hello," said James.

"You were gone for most of my years.I know little about you.Father does not speak of you often, but when he does, it has been ill.I want to know you, Sir, because James tells me you are worth knowing, and because you are my brother, no matter who you are.I wanted to bring you something."She reached into her bag.It was the portrait of Eleanor Ball Laurens."We have more anyway.You should get to honor her memory, as well.I wish I knew you, John.If it is not too late... I would like to get to know you."

John Laurens felt his shoulders slump, eyes hot from more than just the smoke-filled room.He took the portrait."Thank you so much.I am more than happy to get to know you.And you, James, I have acted like a shit brother sometimes.I apologize," he said suddenly."But I love my family."

James grinned."Pour me another brew, John."

Laurens took his glass."On the house."

"Thank you."

"Mary Eleanor, are you on leave from university?"

"Yes," she said."In Toronto."

"I like your pants."

She began to smile."Thank you!Father gets upset with me when I wear them." 

James said, "He gets upset about everything."

"He is a tempered man..."

"He is indeed," expressed Laurens."He always has been.Was worse when Mother passed."

"You remember her well?" asked Mary Eleanor.

"Well, I remember her.It has been a long time."

"You remember better than I.Do you remember when she took us to the theater?"

"She took us to the theater quite a few times, yes."

"I miss her."

"As do I."He sighed."I have missed my family for too long."

"John, may I ask about your exile?"

He wanted to say no."You may ask... but you may not want to hear.You may not want to know me, if you know what I did."

"I know what you did.I just have not heard it from you.The story may be twisted."

He looked to James, then back again to Mary Eleanor."What do you know?"

"You are to make me say it aloud?" she asked.

" _You_ are to make _me_!"

"Fair.I know you were fornicating with a man, is that it?"

Laurens was upset to hear it aloud, no matter how many times it'd been said."You know this, and yet you still sought me out?"

"I am not afraid of you, or men who fornicate with men.You caught me off guard several weeks ago.I should have made it clear to you that I am not so... plain and close-minded.It's the general degradation of your moral character that apprehends me.So will you tell me all, 'though my mind were a clean slate?"

"Another beer first?"

She handed over her empty glass.Laurens filled it, then poured himself a short glass of whiskey.He swallowed it. 

"All right," said he, "I will tell you.Not here.We've already thrown around too many incriminating words.Come with me."

The siblings nodded and got up to follow him out of the bar and up to his practice.He sat at the chair besides the examination table.He was not sure where to begin.He asked.

"Is it true, what you were caught doing?"

Laurens nodded slowly."Yes."

"When did that begin?"

"I do not know.I suppose I-" he caught his tongue, almost slipping and saying he did not wish to speak ill of the dead."James, is Kinloch still missing?"

"Yes... but at this point, no body has been found, so we assume he left town."

"Hm.Well.Mary Eleanor, Francis Kinloch and I were good friends as boys.When we were older, we..."This was perverse to discuss in front of his sister and brother.But they asked."Are you sure you-"

"Yes, Sir, just go on with it."

"Fine, then.When Kinloch and I were going into our teenage years, we began to... do things that felt wrong, even and especially then, but they felt good, and so when we were older, we began to engage in acts of sex... like that between a man and woman."Oh, God, this was horrible."But you must understand, it- I know it is a sin.I know."He sighed."But you must understand, I _loved_ him."

"You did?" asked James, almost with a little whim. 

"I loved him."He loved him."And Father... I think he knew for a long time.Maybe all along.And he hated me, for more reasons than one, but this one especially, and I think when I got married, had a child, and the affair continued, he thought he had to get rid of me.He pressured Kinloch to sell me out with an anonymous statement, maybe for protection, maybe for money.Probably protection; Kinloch has money.I know it is a dangerous world, but I cannot believe he would do that to me.Either of them," he said, looking up now, deep in thought."My father bore no love for me because I loved a man, but even my lover bore no love for me."He should have known all along, he wanted to say.He should have realized when Kinloch shamed him and refused to speak with him and told him it was his fault-he should have known then that Kinloch did not love him-not more than Kinloch loved or perhaps loathed himself.Kinloch would always put his needs first.He never cared, and now he never would.

Laurens looked to the empty space where the chest with Kinloch's body once was.He wondered if there was salvation after this.

"Father fought, hard-working like a dog to get me banished.Even with the publicity.There were rumors, I figure he wanted control of the narrative by propping himself as the victim with a demon spawn who fucks boys....I'm sick."

Mary Eleanor watched her estranged brother speak on about this.She was unsure how to feel about it all.The more she thought about it, the less she cared, but she could hear her father's voice-how he spoke of the eldest Laurens sibling like he was trash.She grew up with the some opinion of John Laurens as a monster.She was fighting it.

James said, "I never cared.Never.I could not understand why Father hated it, but even based upon the cold facts of the Bible, it does not burden my heart that you do what you do.I do not think you are sick, John, if it is any consolation."

Laurens nodded."Yes, it... it is consoling.Thank you."

"Where did you go when you were exiled?"

"West Indies, but lots of places.I worked too hard.Met a lot of people.At first, I was ill at my situation.I was alone, alienated from my wife and daughter, and from Kinloch, and my family, my home... I had a miniature of Mother, but when I sold the frame, the loose portrait ended up getting dirty, then lost, not even a year in.And for the first two years, it felt truly like the punishment it was.After that, I forgot to feel."He met plenty of sodomites on the island, some in prison and some like him, exiled and working for a better life.He met a couple of them whom he was willing to fuck with when he was lonely, but he did not spend his fifteen years of exile sleeping around.It was spent working most of his time, and developing a dependency on alcohol, on which he spent a good quarter or third of his paycheck.The years went by slowly, but when they were over, felt they had been incredibly quick.That chapter of his life was over, now."I came back after fifteen years of exile.Fifteen years, and about 8 months.Strange thing is, when you return from exile, you don't expect to be met with zero resistance.I wonder whatever was stopping me from returning sooner.Nobody was stopping me from boarding a ship with a changed name and appearance and returning to the States-or anywhere!I could be in Europe," he laughed."And here I am!I spent fifteen years feeling stuck and miserable just to return home, where I feel stuck and miserable!"

He laughed and rubbed at his face, feeling less sane than usual. 

"I loved, loved, and loved, and it was taken from me.All it has given to me is spite, rejection, and shame.I am but a hollow husk of a being, somebody who used to care..." He sniffed."I apologize."He cleared his throat."I really should compose myself..."

He sighed.

"You were right, Mary Eleanor.I did this to myself.I commit sinful crimes and expect to be met with warmth, shocked when I am not.I am not worth warmth."

Mary Eleanor approached him, and urged him to stand and quit the apologies.She asked to hug him.He was happy for the chance, and hugged her tight.In their embrace, she told him she did not care and was glad to know him, whether he did it to himself or not.

James joined the hug, arms around both his siblings.Mary Eleanor leaned her head against James.

"You best be writing me.I never replied to your letter from several months ago, for that I'm sorry," she said."But when I leave for Toronto again after New Year's, you best be writing."

"Of course I will."

She pulled away and looked up at him."And be honest: do you still partake in such relations?"

John Laurens held his breath and nodded.

"All right," she said."Do you find it to be righteous?"

"I'm not sure I deserve the chance to."

"Don't you?"

"Mary Eleanor, you are the most forgiving person I've met in all my life."

"When you are a woman wearing pants at university, you often fall in with some crowds of the similar essence.Freeing yourself from the confines of sex... that is what I do, and cross-dressing is oft' awarded the same hatred as you may receieve kissing men.I would be a hypocrite to find pride in my moral indignation if I shamed my brother's, would I not?"

"You raise a good point."

Mary Eleanor grinned."I am well aware."

"I, for one, love you both," said James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I intended to make this a one-shot, and then a two-part one-shot, but now it is three parts so it is a short story. I am putting a cap on the third part, lovelies :) sorry to keep you waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> omg i can just imagine dr lector tearing me (john?) up for that butchering. he'd say you arent supposed to scare the meat or summat idk


End file.
